YWPMI

Anna M.K.C. Hazen (c) 2024

This is a fictional story. Because I am not a reporter or anything of the sort, I cannot know all that really happened during the war in Israel, that was upstarted by the Hamas militant organization, on October 7th, 2023. I wrote this because I know, that we cannot forget those who lost their lives in these battles started by the vile miscreants. It’s bad enough that people are trying to disavow the Holocaust, like it never happened. But WE know it DID. These dastardly cowards who try to commit genocide of anyone they hate is an abomination to God. HE WILL repay! We have to stand strong on that. Here are just a few passages of Scripture to keep your heart at peace about it:

1. Deuteronomy 32:35: “To me belongs vengeance, and recompence; their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste.”
2. Romans 12:19: “Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”
3. Hebrews 10:30: “For we know him that hath said, Vengeance belongs unto me, I will recompense, saith the Lord. And again, The Lord shall judge his people.”
4. 2 Thessalonians 1:6: “Seeing it is a righteous thing with God to recompense tribulation to them that trouble you.”

I do hope you enjoy the story; sad as it is.

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As the joyful sounds of the Feast of Trumpets echoed across the hills of Israel, families gathered in their homes, sharing meals, laughter, and prayers of gratitude. The sun cast a warm glow over the land, reflecting the spirit of unity and hope that the festival represented. Everyone looked forward to a night filled with celebration, where the shofar’s blast would call them to the heart of the festivities.

Suddenly, the celebratory atmosphere was shattered by the piercing sound of gunfire. Panic erupted as shadows emerged from the horizon—Hamas militants had broken through the border walls at the corner of Jordan and Gaza and other areas, launching a surprise attack on the unsuspecting civilians celebrating the holy day, Sukkot, at several kibbutz. The echoes of joy turned to screams as chaos unfolded. People instinctively grabbed their children and ran for safety, but the militants advanced with ruthless efficiency, using the very civilians of Gaza as shields.

In homes and community centers across the region, the joyous shofar blasts morphed into cries for help. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of another instrument began to rise above the din of gunfire. The melody was both haunting and hopeful, calling not just for celebration but for defense, for a rallying of spirit and strength in the face of unimaginable terror; a call to God for help.

Moshe a leader among the people, felt the weight of bodies pressed against him, fear palpable in the air. He raised his voice above the turmoil, reminding those around him of their purpose and history. “When we go into battle, we must remember our God,” he urged. “He hears our cries and remembers our plight.”

With renewed resolve, a small group of men and women gathered around their makeshift command center. They understood the urgency of the moment and summoned what courage they could muster. The shofar was to be blown again, not just a signal of celebration but a call to arms—a reminder that they were more than victims; they were a people with a history of resilience; a call to God for help against Israel’s enemies.

As the faithful Rabbi lifted the shofar to his lips, its sound resonated through the air, piercing the chaos with a powerful declaration of solidarity. The call summoned others, drawing local fighters and neighbors who had felt the burden of attack for too long. It was a sacred call, bridging the gap between despair and hope.

With coordinated strength, the defenders of Israel formed lines, prepared to fight back against the advancing enemy. The sound of the shofar and then several trumpets merged with their battle cries, a testimony to their shared faith and determination. They fought valiantly, knowing the lives of countless innocent people depended on their unity and courage.

Among the ash and smoke, the spirit of the festival lingered, a reminder of the hope they fought to preserve. Each blast of the shofar and trumpets, served as a rallying cry, intertwining the threads of history, faith, and defiance against oppression. The night stretched on, but the spirit of the Feast of Trumpets remained—an enduring testament to their fight for freedom and peace, echoing through the ages, a promise that they would not be forgotten nor fall in silence.

Even in the darkest of times, as the battle raged and clarity seemed lost, the heart of Israel beat strong, pulsing with faith and bravery, guided by the God who had always remembered them. The battle raged on, fierce and relentless. The air was thick with smoke and the cries of both anguish and determination. As the defenders of Israel rallied, they encountered not just the militants but the overwhelming realization of what was at stake. Family, culture, and a shared future hung in the balance.

The makeshift command center buzzed with urgency. Someone shouted, “We need to protect the neighborhoods! Evacuate the elderly and children!” A plan was quickly formed, with volunteers moving to direct traffic away from danger, guiding families to safety while others prepared to hold the line. In the midst of the chaos, a group of young men—a mix of soldiers and civilians—stood united. They had never imagined they would take up arms this way, but here they were, shoulder to shoulder, gripping their weapons and steeling their hearts. Among them was Eli, a high school teacher turned fighter. He could still recall the laughter of his students, how he had shared stories of their history and the struggles that came before them. When the shofar had sounded, it was as if the spirit of those countless ancestors had infused strength into his legs, giving him the courage to fight for their shared future.

“Stay close!” Eli shouted to his friends, his voice cutting through the noise around them. They nodded, acknowledging the unspoken bond forged in the heat of battle. Together, they pushed forward, trying to gain ground in the chaos. Each step was heavy, weighed down by the knowledge of the lives the militants were threatening.

As the defenders regrouped, Moses continued to lead from the forefront, embodying the spirit of resilience. He called out commands and strategic directions, utilizing every bit of knowledge gleaned from years of conflict and survival. “Remember your training!” he urged as they formed a tighter shield against the advancing forces. “We fight not just for ourselves but for those whose voices have echoed through time—our children, our elders, our future.”

With fierce determination, the group advanced, inch by inch, pushing back against the militants who sought to sow fear and destruction. They were met with resistance, but each blast of the shofar reminding them of their collective strength renewed their resolve.

In the heart of the battle, emergency responders worked tirelessly to care for the injured. Medics moved through the streets, defying danger to ensure that no one was left behind. It was not only a fight against oppression but a testament to community and care that transcended the battlefield. They treated wounds, offered water and comfort, and above all, reminded those around them that hope still flourished even in darkness.

As the night unfolded, the sounds of the feast became a distant memory against the backdrop of gunfire and resolve. But deep in the hearts of those standing strong, the essence of the Feast of Trumpets remained—a celebration of new beginnings, of awakening, and most importantly, a reminder of their identity and purpose.

As dawn approached, fatigue and sorrow hung heavily in the air. But there was also anticipation—a hope for the light that would break through the darkness. With the first rays of sunlight spilling over the horizon, the shadows of night began to retreat. The defenders pushed harder, driven by the knowledge that their spirits, their community, and their connection to the divine fortified them.

The tide of battle began to shift. The militants, who had thought to instill fear, now felt the surge of community reuniting against them. The cries of children, once muted in fear, rang out clear and strong as families reunited, finding their loved ones amidst the chaos. Each reunion fortified the defenders, breathing new life into their fight.

In those fleeting moments, each ally became a pillar of strength. Eli, breathing heavily but resolute, saw a child running toward her mother and felt a surge of purpose. “This is for them,” he whispered to himself, and with renewed vigor, he charged back into the fray, alongside his comrades, embodying what every blast of the shofar had called them to be—brave, united, and unyielding.

As the sun broke fully over the horizon, the sounds of the shofar and trumpets blended seamlessly with the clamor of triumph and resistance. Together, the defenders of Israel and all who believed in their cause stood tall, the festival of resilience and faith infusing them with an unbreakable spirit. They fought not for mere survival but for a vision of peace where the joy of the Feast of Trumpets could once again ring true, echoing hope in every heart, unwavering in their belief that tomorrow would be brighter.

As dawn finally broke over that tumultuous day, the battle continued. But now, intertwined with the cries of defiance, there was a growing sorrow. Reports filtered back to the defenders about the aftermath of the initial assault—over one hundred people had been kidnapped during the chaos, taken from their homes and the festival grounds by Hamas militants who had no regard for the sanctity of life or the celebrations that had begun the evening before.

The weight of those losses bore heavily upon the defenders. Each member felt the loss acutely, understanding that each person abducted represented a family torn apart, a story interrupted mid-chapter. Mothers, fathers, children, and the elderly had been swept into the night, leaving only echoes of laughter and warmth behind. Eli could hardly bear the thought of his students—once so full of life and laughter—now trapped in a situation beyond their comprehension.

Moses understood that to defeat the forces arrayed against them, they needed more than mere courage to battle in the streets. He quickly called a meeting under a makeshift tent, a charred piece of fabric that had once been part of a joyful celebration. In its shadow, he gathered a diverse group of community leaders, fighters, and families who were willing to unite for the sake of those who remained missing.

“We need to plan,” he urged, voice steady against the flickers of uncertainty. “To rescue those who have been taken. Not just for ourselves but for everyone who believes in our future. They must know we do not abandon our own.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, solidarity growing amongst them like a shield. Eli volunteered, “I want to find the children. We owe it to them to try, to fight for their laughter to return to this place.” Others joined him, a mixture of fighters and civilians, each bringing their own skills to the table. They unraveled a map of the region, guided by intelligence gathered from locals who had witnessed the movements of the militants.

While the battle continued to rage in certain protected areas, teams began forming, each with a specific mission: gather intel, search for the captives, and create strategies to outmaneuver Hamas. Word spread swiftly, building hopes within the community. Families rallied, lending support and sharing information, determined to stand firm against the threat that sought to divide them.

As they prepared to set out on their mission, Moses reminded them, “We must hold onto our compassion as tightly as we hold onto our weapons. We can’t forget that in the heart of this conflict, there are innocents on both sides, suffering for reasons far beyond their understanding.”

Armed not just with rifles, but with the resolve that echoed from the Feast of Trumpets, the rescuers took to the streets, moved by the stories of those taken and the faces they longed to see restored to safety.

They moved through alleyways and concealed paths, navigating the remnants of the battle while staying vigilant. Eli led one group toward a neighboring district, believing it could serve as a key to uncovering information about the kidnapped. Along the way, whispers floated among locals, stories of hiding places and back routes that could hold vital clues about the captives.

As they ventured deeper into the conflict, they encountered pockets of resistance—a realization that those who had once been lost to violence now stood ready to fight back. With each encounter, they left word of their mission, urging others to join them, stoking the embers of hope within anyone willing to listen.

The progress was slow, and they held their breath as they approached a suspected hideout. Heart pounding, Eli signaled to the others to stay quiet while they regrouped—this was where the compassion Moses spoke of would become critical. If the kidnappers housed the captives here, a loud confrontation might put lives at risk. They formed a plan to gain entrance, relying on stealth and strategy. Just as they were about to execute it, a sudden voice pierced the silence—one of the abducted children they later learned to be a brave little boy named Avi. His shouts echoed like a beacon: “Help! We’re here!”

Eli’s heart raced. “That’s them! We need to go now!”

With determination ignited, they stormed into the compound. The air was tense, every moment an eternity, and as they entered, they saw them—children, mothers, and fathers, bound and in various states of distress. The militants, caught off guard, scrambled to reach their weapons, but the defenders pushed through with fervor, using their sheer strength of spirit.

“Stay close! We’re here to bring you home!” Eli shouted, freeing Avi and rallying others to escape. The air was laced with tension, fear, and the desperate need for survival. He felt the weight of every life entrusted to him as they rushed to liberate those held captive, noticing every grateful face, every frightened gaze that met theirs, reinforcing the belief that every act of courage mattered.

As the chaos unfolded, a fierce battle brewed between the daring rescuers and the militants trying to regain control. They fought to hold back aggression while ushering the captives toward safety. The shouts of “We’re coming!” and “Stay close!” reverberated, a potent reminder of their unity.

When at last they burst through the exit, a flood of light greeted them—clarity amid the darkness. Eli led the rescued into the open air, breathless but unyielding, as the defenders rallied behind them, ensuring every last one made it back home.

As dawn finally broke over that tumultuous day, the battle continued. But now, intertwined with the cries of defiance, there was a growing sorrow. Reports filtered back to the defenders about the aftermath of the initial assault—over one hundred people had been kidnapped during the chaos, taken from their homes and the festival grounds by Hamas militants who had no regard for the sanctity of life or the celebrations that had begun the evening before.

The weight of those losses bore heavily upon the defenders. Each member felt the loss acutely, understanding that each person abducted represented a family torn apart, a story interrupted mid-chapter. Mothers, fathers, children, and the elderly had been swept into the night, leaving only echoes of laughter and warmth behind. Eli could hardly bear the thought of his students—once so full of life and laughter—now trapped in a situation beyond their comprehension.

Moses understood that to defeat the forces arrayed against them, they needed more than mere courage to battle in the streets. He quickly called a meeting under a makeshift tent, a charred piece of fabric that had once been part of a joyful celebration. In its shadow, he gathered a diverse group of community leaders, fighters, and families who were willing to unite for the sake of those who remained missing.

“We need to plan,” he urged, voice steady against the flickers of uncertainty. “To rescue those who have been taken. Not just for ourselves but for everyone who believes in our future. They must know we do not abandon our own.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, solidarity growing amongst them like a shield. Eli volunteered, “I want to find the children. We owe it to them to try, to fight for their laughter to return to this place.” Others joined him, a mixture of fighters and civilians, each bringing their own skills to the table. They unraveled a map of the region, guided by intelligence gathered from locals who had witnessed the movements of the militants.

While the battle continued to rage in certain protected areas, teams began forming, each with a specific mission: gather intel, search for the captives, and create strategies to outmaneuver Hamas. Word spread swiftly, building hopes within the community. Families rallied, lending support and sharing information, determined to stand firm against the threat that sought to divide them.

As they prepared to set out on their mission, Moses reminded them, “We must hold onto our compassion as tightly as we hold onto our weapons. We can’t forget that in the heart of this conflict, there are innocents on both sides, suffering for reasons far beyond their understanding.”

Armed not just with rifles, but with the resolve that echoed from the Feast of Trumpets, the rescuers took to the streets, moved by the stories of those taken and the faces they longed to see restored to safety.

They moved through alleyways and concealed paths, navigating the remnants of the battle while staying vigilant. Eli led one group toward a neighboring district, believing it could serve as a key to uncovering information about the kidnapped. Along the way, whispers floated among locals, stories of hiding places and back routes that could hold vital clues about the captives.

As they ventured deeper into the conflict, they encountered pockets of resistance—a realization that those who had once been lost to violence now stood ready to fight back. With each encounter, they left word of their mission, urging others to join them, stoking the embers of hope within anyone willing to listen.

The progress was slow, and they held their breath as they approached a suspected hideout. Heart pounding, Eli signaled to the others to stay quiet while they regrouped—this was where the compassion Moses spoke of would become critical. If the kidnappers housed the captives here, a loud confrontation might put lives at risk. They formed a plan to gain entrance, relying on stealth and strategy. Just as they were about to execute it, a sudden voice pierced the silence—one of the abducted children they later learned to be a brave little boy named Avi. His shouts echoed like a beacon: “Help! We’re here!”

Eli’s heart raced. “That’s them! We need to go now!”

With determination ignited, they stormed into the compound. The air was tense, every moment an eternity, and as they entered, they saw them—children, mothers, and fathers, bound and in various states of distress. The militants, caught off guard, scrambled to reach their weapons, but the defenders pushed through with fervor, using their sheer strength of spirit.

“Stay close! We’re here to bring you home!” Eli shouted, freeing Avi and rallying others to escape. The air was laced with tension, fear, and the desperate need for survival. He felt the weight of every life entrusted to him as they rushed to liberate those held captive, noticing every grateful face, every frightened gaze that met theirs, reinforcing the belief that every act of courage mattered.

As the chaos unfolded, a fierce battle brewed between the daring rescuers and the militants trying to regain control. They fought to hold back aggression while ushering the captives toward safety. The shouts of “We’re coming!” and “Stay close!” reverberated, a potent reminder of their unity.

When at last they burst through the exit, a flood of light greeted them—clarity amid the darkness. Eli led the rescued into the open air, breathless but unyielding, as the defenders rallied behind them, ensuring every last one made it back home.

As dawn finally broke over that tumultuous day, the battle continued. But now, intertwined with the cries of defiance, there was a growing sorrow. Reports filtered back to the defenders about the aftermath of the initial assault—over one hundred people had been kidnapped during the chaos, taken from their homes and the festival grounds by Hamas militants who had no regard for the sanctity of life or the celebrations that had begun the evening before.

The weight of those losses bore heavily upon the defenders. Each member felt the loss acutely, understanding that each person abducted represented a family torn apart, a story interrupted mid-chapter. Mothers, fathers, children, and the elderly had been swept into the night, leaving only echoes of laughter and warmth behind. Eli could hardly bear the thought of his students—once so full of life and laughter—now trapped in a situation beyond their comprehension.

Moses understood that to defeat the forces arrayed against them, they needed more than mere courage to battle in the streets. He quickly called a meeting under a makeshift tent, a charred piece of fabric that had once been part of a joyful celebration. In its shadow, he gathered a diverse group of community leaders, fighters, and families who were willing to unite for the sake of those who remained missing.

“We need to plan,” he urged, voice steady against the flickers of uncertainty. “To rescue those who have been taken. Not just for ourselves but for everyone who believes in our future. They must know we do not abandon our own.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, solidarity growing amongst them like a shield. Eli volunteered, “I want to find the children. We owe it to them to try, to fight for their laughter to return to this place.” Others joined him, a mixture of fighters and civilians, each bringing their own skills to the table. They unraveled a map of the region, guided by intelligence gathered from locals who had witnessed the movements of the militants.

While the battle continued to rage in certain protected areas, teams began forming, each with a specific mission: gather intel, search for the captives, and create strategies to outmaneuver Hamas. Word spread swiftly, building hopes within the community. Families rallied, lending support and sharing information, determined to stand firm against the threat that sought to divide them.

As they prepared to set out on their mission, Moses reminded them, “We must hold onto our compassion as tightly as we hold onto our weapons. We can’t forget that in the heart of this conflict, there are innocents on both sides, suffering for reasons far beyond their understanding.”

Armed not just with rifles, but with the resolve that echoed from the Feast of Trumpets, the rescuers took to the streets, moved by the stories of those taken and the faces they longed to see restored to safety.

They moved through alleyways and concealed paths, navigating the remnants of the battle while staying vigilant. Eli led one group toward a neighboring district, believing it could serve as a key to uncovering information about the kidnapped. Along the way, whispers floated among locals, stories of hiding places and back routes that could hold vital clues about the captives.

As they ventured deeper into the conflict, they encountered pockets of resistance—a realization that those who had once been lost to violence now stood ready to fight back. With each encounter, they left word of their mission, urging others to join them, stoking the embers of hope within anyone willing to listen.

The progress was slow, and they held their breath as they approached a suspected hideout. Heart pounding, Eli signaled to the others to stay quiet while they regrouped—this was where the compassion Moses spoke of would become critical. If the kidnappers housed the captives here, a loud confrontation might put lives at risk. They formed a plan to gain entrance, relying on stealth and strategy. Just as they were about to execute it, a sudden voice pierced the silence—one of the abducted children they later learned to be a brave little boy named Avi. His shouts echoed like a beacon: “Help! We’re here!”

Eli’s heart raced. “That’s them! We need to go now!”

With determination ignited, they stormed into the compound. The air was tense, every moment an eternity, and as they entered, they saw them—children, mothers, and fathers, bound and in various states of distress. The militants, caught off guard, scrambled to reach their weapons, but the defenders pushed through with fervor, using their sheer strength of spirit.

“Stay close! We’re here to bring you home!” Eli shouted, freeing Avi and rallying others to escape. The air was laced with tension, fear, and the desperate need for survival. He felt the weight of every life entrusted to him as they rushed to liberate those held captive, noticing every grateful face, every frightened gaze that met theirs, reinforcing the belief that every act of courage mattered.

As the chaos unfolded, a fierce battle brewed between the daring rescuers and the militants trying to regain control. They fought to hold back aggression while ushering the captives toward safety. The shouts of “We’re coming!” and “Stay close!” reverberated, a potent reminder of their unity.

When at last they burst through the exit, a flood of light greeted them—clarity amid the darkness. Eli led the rescued into the open air, breathless but unyielding, as the defenders rallied behind them, ensuring every last one made it back home.

As dawn finally broke over that tumultuous day, the battle continued. But now, intertwined with the cries of defiance, there was a growing sorrow. Reports filtered back to the defenders about the aftermath of the initial assault—over one hundred people had been kidnapped during the chaos, taken from their homes and the festival grounds by Hamas militants who had no regard for the sanctity of life or the celebrations that had begun the evening before.

The weight of those losses bore heavily upon the defenders. Each member felt the loss acutely, understanding that each person abducted represented a family torn apart, a story interrupted mid-chapter. Mothers, fathers, children, and the elderly had been swept into the night, leaving only echoes of laughter and warmth behind. Eli could hardly bear the thought of his students—once so full of life and laughter—now trapped in a situation beyond their comprehension.

Moses understood that to defeat the forces arrayed against them, they needed more than mere courage to battle in the streets. He quickly called a meeting under a makeshift tent, a charred piece of fabric that had once been part of a joyful celebration. In its shadow, he gathered a diverse group of community leaders, fighters, and families who were willing to unite for the sake of those who remained missing.

“We need to plan,” he urged, voice steady against the flickers of uncertainty. “To rescue those who have been taken. Not just for ourselves but for everyone who believes in our future. They must know we do not abandon our own.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, solidarity growing amongst them like a shield. Eli volunteered, “I want to find the children. We owe it to them to try, to fight for their laughter to return to this place.” Others joined him, a mixture of fighters and civilians, each bringing their own skills to the table. They unraveled a map of the region, guided by intelligence gathered from locals who had witnessed the movements of the militants.

While the battle continued to rage in certain protected areas, teams began forming, each with a specific mission: gather intel, search for the captives, and create strategies to outmaneuver Hamas. Word spread swiftly, building hopes within the community. Families rallied, lending support and sharing information, determined to stand firm against the threat that sought to divide them.

As they prepared to set out on their mission, Moses reminded them, “We must hold onto our compassion as tightly as we hold onto our weapons. We can’t forget that in the heart of this conflict, there are innocents on both sides, suffering for reasons far beyond their understanding.”

Armed not just with rifles, but with the resolve that echoed from the Feast of Trumpets, the rescuers took to the streets, moved by the stories of those taken and the faces they longed to see restored to safety.

They moved through alleyways and concealed paths, navigating the remnants of the battle while staying vigilant. Eli led one group toward a neighboring district, believing it could serve as a key to uncovering information about the kidnapped. Along the way, whispers floated among locals, stories of hiding places and back routes that could hold vital clues about the captives.

As they ventured deeper into the conflict, they encountered pockets of resistance—a realization that those who had once been lost to violence now stood ready to fight back. With each encounter, they left word of their mission, urging others to join them, stoking the embers of hope within anyone willing to listen. The progress was slow, and they held their breath as they approached a suspected hideout.