At the site of the recent brutal terror attacks across our homeland, beautiful children, men and women danced and sang and prayed all wrapped together in Israeli flags with massive stars on their backs pouring their hearts out for better more peaceful days. Because they can.

The Israeli government and leaders met all day yesterday to implement new security policies and procedures. Because it can.

Every time I see my blue and white flag, a lump forms in my throat. Because it can. Because I am home.

There is something about that star…

Whether it’s sadly folded at half-mast in the depth of sorrow or proudly blowing in all its fullness, glory and wonder on a windy day. There is something about that star…

Whether I see it on a uniform, on a sports team, on a soldier or on a badge – it is worn with pride and integrity. It symbolizes a strength of a nation, tiny in size, mighty in heart and spirit. Small in kilometers, epically massive in ability, potential and possibility. There is something about that star…

Whether I see it on the tail of a plane where the sky is the limit or being paraded by a group of brave climbers who have conquered a mountain or youth from around the globe in March of the Living: the feeling of accomplishment and reassurance, significance and purpose, the comfort of safety and protection. The star of faith and survival against all odds. There is something about that star…

Whether I see it on a piece of machinery, a website or a tiny new piece of technology. It means therein lies innovation and creativity. A blend of brilliant minds, attitude and unprecedented opportunities. There is something about that star…

Whether it joins the space quest, the Olympic Games, or the first to run and save a life in another place miles away.
Because that star knows hope.
That star knows suffering.
That star knows war.
That star knows humanity.
That star knows the value of life. All too well.

There is something about that star that sometimes shines clearly in broad daylight because it can, and then sometimes only shines bright when it’s dark enough outside to truly be taken by its beauty and magnificent light. And sometimes only in the pitch of night, we get to see it illuminate the universe.

Be it in times of natural disaster or saving refugees, in times of war and conflict surrounded by imminent threat and in times of unity when that single lone star is sometimes the only thing we have in common.

There is something about that star that brings a sense of safety despite danger, hope despite despair, life despite death, help despite devastating loss.

There is something about that star that embraces the paradox of me and you, us and them, all of us. Mankind.

There is something about that star whether it’s slowly drawn by a little child learning to color, or whether it is warn by a group of youth dancing their hearts out at the site of a terror attack, praying to Hashem for better times, never losing faith.

There is something about that one single blue star that rests on a pure white bed, guarded and protected from above and below by stripes of Hashem’s greatest miracles and difficult messages we will most likely never fully understand or comprehend.

I can’t quite explain it. But there is something peacefully reassuring about that star that sometimes loudly roars and sometimes quietly whispers the very same message: “I have your back. It will somehow be ok. You’re not alone. You’re home”.

A friends told me yesterday that the letters of דקר and רקד are the same.

Under our star – we will live.
We will dance.
We will pray.
We will defend.
We will have faith.
We will remain strong.
We will unite.

Until we are all dancing home.

Because we must.

Because we can.

עם ישראל חי