How visiting Israel changed my perspective about the war 

I keep returning to the moment I saw the kalaniot – the blood red poppies – sprouting defiantly from the ruins of what was Kibbutz Be’eri. 

The contrast was almost too much to process in real time. Vibrant petals swaying in the Negev breeze, pushing up through land scarred by massacre. Less than a year and a half earlier, this was the site of unfathomable horror. Among the twisted ruins and the fresh construction sites, the flowers declared something wordless and powerful: life will return here. 

What struck me most in that moment was the quiet truth that Israel’s land holds history older than any war. These fields have seen empire and exile, joy and heartbreak. Yet every season, the poppies come back. This land does not forget. It endures, not because of politics or borders, but because of something deeper. Something rooted. 

A question began to form inside me: Is this where I’m meant to be? Is this where we’re all meant to be?