21/10/2026
Recently, I visited a Jewish mother in the Galilee who had lost her only son in Gaza. The mayor of Nof HaGalil had asked me to visit her and offer some comfort. When I entered her home, I saw her wearing her son's jacket. It was heartbreaking, and I knew that no words could ever take away the pain she was carrying.
As she began to cry, I embraced her and told her, “We are all your sons. You can count me as your son.” She looked at me, surprised, and asked what I meant. I opened the Bible and read to her from the Psalms, including Psalm 23, reminding her that even in our deepest sorrow, the Lord is with us. When I told her again that she could count me as her son, she asked, “Do you really mean it?” I told her, “Yes, of course. I mean it.”
What happened next touched my heart deeply. She went inside and returned with a Hebrew Bible, a Tanakh, that had belonged to her son. His name was written inside. She placed it in my hands and said, “You keep it.” Here was a Jewish mother who had lost her only son, giving his Bible to an Arab pastor who had come to comfort her. We came from different backgrounds, but in that moment, none of those differences mattered. What mattered was a mother's sorrow and the love we could share.
Since that day, we have become close friends. This experience reminded me of the words in Isaiah 40:1, “Comfort, comfort my people,” says your God. I believe this is something we must remember, especially during these difficult days in Israel. Jewish families are grieving, Arab families are grieving, and so many people are carrying pain that we cannot see. We cannot take away their sorrow, but we can sit with them, listen to them, pray for them, and remind them that they are not alone.
We must be bridge builders, not barriers.
