Dear Friends,
I am writing this letter to you from Chicago. Staying this long in the Windy City was not Plan A.
I headed out to the States the day after Bnos Avigail’s graduation, planning to be in London for two days (and yes, that actually happened), and then here for speaking in St. Louis and Chicago before heading home. The airport was closed almost as soon as we arrived in London, and we—along with tens of thousands of others—discovered that our plans for returning to E”Y are now on hold.
But it is precisely in moments like these that you know more is going on than what your eyes can see, and more than what you’ll learn by reading the news. It’s relatively easy to find out what is happening—almost impossible to know with certainty why it is happening—but morally unacceptable to fail to ask honestly: What is it that we are meant to see?
We have always lived with the paradox of pain and miracle side by side. The current war, with all its tragedy, is also a channel through which Hashem is revealing His closeness, His presence, and His direct involvement in the world. This is not a war fought only on physical battlegrounds—it is a war of awareness. A war in which Hashem is whispering—and sometimes shouting—“I am here.”
It’s not the first time.
If you and I were there at Yetziat Mitzrayim (which we were, though the memory is buried so deeply that we can’t fully forget it or fully recall it for what it was), we would know that it was not only our physical liberation, but also a revelation of Hashem’s identity—and ours.
“Anochi Hashem Elokecha” — I am Hashem your God — was the first of the Ten Commandments, not just a theological statement, but a personal one. Hashem does not sit distant in Heaven. He is intimately involved in every detail of our lives.
The second commandment — “You shall not have any other gods before Me” — reminds us that our relationship with Hashem is not one of abstraction. It is built on recognition, experience, and loyalty—without distraction and without the comfort of fantasy. It is the negation of seeing other forces (internal ones like difficult or traumatic experiences, or external ones like war, illness, or horror) as having ultimate control. When we see miracles—flagpoles that say “I am here”—we can step back to remember who we are and whose we are.
WHAT’S NEW?
The School That Should Have Been Full
A few of days ago, on the edge of Bnei Brak—very close to where my son Eliahu lives—a school blew up. The kids (special needs) were not there. No one was. It’s not the first time this kind of story could be told.
WALKING DOWN MEMORY LANE: A COUPLE OF MIRACLES WE MAY HAVE FORGOTTEN OR NEVER HEARD OF
The School in Gedera
Not that long ago, in Gedera, an Iranian missile struck the Shalhevet Chabad School. The damage was extensive — windows shattered, walls cracked, debris everywhere. And yet, not a single child was harmed. Why? Because the children had been dismissed for Rosh Hashanah just hours earlier. Military officials called it luck. We call it what it is: hashgacha pratit — Divine supervision. Hashem cleared the building. Not a soul was left inside when it hit. That is not just a rescue — it’s a message.
The Convoy That Was Delayed — and Saved
In another incident, a military convoy traveling through northern Israel was inexplicably delayed due to a mechanical error. At the time, it felt frustrating. But within the hour, it became clear that the route ahead had been ambushed. What seemed like a malfunction became a miracle. The delay wasn’t random — it was protection. Hashem’s timing isn't always understood in the moment, but it is exact.
The Missile That Failed to Explode
During the conflict, an Iranian missile landed in an open area near a town—close to a kindergarten. It struck the ground, but never detonated. Bomb squads later said the warhead had been fully functional, and yet, for some unknown reason, it did not go off. The laws of physics said it should have exploded. But Hashem overruled nature. This is what it means when Chazal say Hashem "suspends the laws of creation for the sake of His children."
And Yes — the Tragedies, Too
So what does this mean for you?
It means you are living in a time of great revelation.
It means your prayers matter more than you think.
Rav Zilberstein stressed that those of us who have children or work with them shouldn’t forget how precious their tefillos are.
It means every mitzvah you do, every moment of emunah you hold onto — even when it’s hard — is part of a bigger story being written.
Seeing miracles isn’t just about being inspired. It’s about being called: to grow, to awaken, to know Who is behind it all — and to remember who we are.
We’ve had so many people get it right — Agam Bergman, Eli Sharabi, the announcer on the secular channel who (just last night) put on a kippah to say Mizmor L’Todah, the Psalm of Thanksgiving — because the way Hashem granted wisdom to the Israeli forces on the first nights of the war is not part of any human playbook. The same army that failed so dismally on October 7 was given another chance by Hashem.
Rav David Yosef (Rav Ovadia’s son and the current Chief Rabbi) said we should all thank the One who grants humans insight — when we live through these miracles day after day and see how He allows us to partner with Him as He saves us time after time.
May we continue to see miracles.
May we learn to recognize them.
And may we merit to see the greatest miracle of all:
peace, redemption, and the full return of Hashem’s presence to this world.
With love,
Tziporah
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