On October 6th, a nightmare unfolded in the realm of dreams. I witnessed a group of people invading my sanctuary, stripping my tree of its precious fruits. I screamed, pleaded, but they continued, eventually uprooting the tree itself. The hole they left behind felt like a void in my very soul.

20 years ago, when I bought my then fixer-upper home, one of my favorite things was the grapefruit tree outside my bedroom door. It wasn’t just a tree; it was like an old friend, standing there through thick and thin. The kind of friend you see every day but never really notice until one day, you can’t imagine your life without them.

The tree had this thick citrus aroma that brought the scent of my childhood in Israel right to my doorstep. It made me feel right at home, anchoring me to my roots, even in a distant land.

This tree, with its branches reaching for the sky, wasn’t just a part of my backyard. It was a piece of my daily routine, a silent companion that witnessed the unfolding chapters of my life. Each morning, as the sun painted the sky with warm hues, my grapefruit tree stood outside my window, nodding a greeting as if to say, “Good morning! Ready for another day?”

It became a ritual – waking up, seeing that familiar burst of vibrant green, and knowing that life’s simplest joys often reside in those seemingly ordinary moments. Seasons changed, but my tree remained a constant, offering a bounty of delicious grapefruits that I would eagerly share with anyone who walked through my door.

As the years went by, my tree, like an old pal, weathered a few storms. It produced fewer fruits, and its branches carried the weight of time, but it never lost its charm. It stood there, a testament to resilience, echoing the shared laughter, stories, and my girls birthdays celebrations beneath its shade.

On October 6th, a nightmare unfolded in the realm of dreams. I witnessed a group of people invading my sanctuary, stripping my tree of its precious fruits. I screamed, pleaded, but they continued, eventually uprooting the tree itself. The hole they left behind felt like a void in my very soul.

When I woke up on Saturday, October 7th, the relief was overwhelming when I rushed to my window, finding my tree standing tall and strong. When I told my husband what had happened, he said, “You’re describing what’s happening in Israel today. Hamas is entering people’s homes and taking lives.”

This is how all Israelis are connected. Paraphrasing Yehuda HaLevi poem, I may be here in the West, but my heart is in the East. I might be here, in the United States, but my heart is in Israel.

That dream wasn’t just a figment of imagination; it mirrored the harsh realities faced by my fellow Israelis. October 7 was the deadliest day for Jews since the Holocaust, a painful fact that, as an Israeli, I can’t escape, even in my dreams.

In the waking world, my grapefruit tree continues to stand tall, a symbol of resilience, hope, and the unwavering spirit that defines us. It teaches me that, even in the face of adversity, life finds a way to prevail. Just like my tree, Israel stands strong, and its people endure with an unyielding spirit.

Beyond the nightmare, the tree continued its journey, blooming despite the scars. Its story resonated with Israel’s ongoing struggle for peace amid external challenges. Just as the grapefruit tree endured, Israel is standing strong, a testament to the indomitable spirit of its people. Finding inspiration in its ability to weather storms and continue bearing fruit. May it serve as a reminder that even in the darkest nights, there is a promise of a new dawn—a dawn filled with abundance, shared joy, and the unwavering spirit of hope

In the quiet rustle of leaves, a tree shares a timeless message: Beyond nightmares, resilience prevails, and the promise of hope is evergreen. Am Israel Chai.

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