I walked into that hospital expecting to see wounded soldiers.

I did not expect to see the soul of Israel.

The air was heavy with the sound of machines doing the work that young bodies could no longer do on their own. Monitors blinked softly, holding fragile lines between life and death. These were not just patients. These were sons. Daughters. Entire futures interrupted in an instant.

I met IDF soldiers who were Jewish. I met IDF soldiers who were Muslim. I met soldiers of different faiths and backgrounds. Different prayers. Different names. Different stories.

But they wore the same uniform.

They carried the same wounds.

They had made the same decision — to stand between their people and those who sought their destruction.

This is the truth the world refuses to see.

Israel’s defenders are not defined by one religion.

They are defined by courage.

A Jewish mother in her seventies.

At an age when she should have been surrounded by grandchildren, by peace, by the quiet dignity of a life lived and sacrifices completed, she stood beside a hospital bed watching machines breathe for her son.

Her son, an IDF soldier, lay unconscious on life support.

His body was still. His future uncertain. His life suspended between this world and the next.

No parent should ever have to witness this.

But at over seventy years old, she was living every parent’s worst nightmare.

She had every reason to break.

Every reason to close herself off.

Every reason to hate the world that had done this to her child.

Instead, she welcomed me.

She did not see religion. She did not see division. She saw a human being.

She insisted that I eat something.

I gently told her that I had a flight to catch. That I did not have time.

She refused to let me leave without caring for me.

With quiet determination, she gathered soda cans. She packed fruits. She placed them into my hands.

At over seventy years old, while her own son lay in a coma, she was worried that I might go hungry.

In that moment, I struggled to breathe.

Here was a mother standing in the shadow of losing her child.

And her instinct was not hatred.

Her instinct was kindness.

Her instinct was humanity.

This is what the Jewish people are.

Not the lies spread by those who have never stood beside them.

Not the monsters invented by propaganda.

But mothers who still choose compassion while watching machines fight to keep their children alive.

People who carry unbearable pain and still refuse to surrender their humanity.

And the soldiers I met — Jewish, Muslim, and from all faiths — are living proof of what Israel truly is.

A nation where people of different faiths do not just live together.

They sacrifice together.

They defend life together.

I did not leave that hospital the same man who walked in.

I left carrying a truth no propaganda could ever erase.

I will never forget that seventy-year-old mother.

I will never forget her strength.

I will never forget her kindness.

And I will never forget what she showed me about the soul of Israel.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)