WATCH: IDF soldier Matan Misan lost both his legs in Gaza. Now he's skiing. 

The crunch of snow under prosthetic blades echoes through the frigid air, a sound that tells a story louder than words ever could. Matan Misan, a soldier of Israel’s Givati Brigade, carves down the slope with a grin that betrays none of the pain he’s endured. Less than a year ago, he lay broken on a battlefield in Gaza, his body torn by war, his future uncertain. Today, he skis—a warrior reborn, defying gravity and fate in equal measure.

It was a day like any other in Khan Yunis, or so it seemed, until the blast came. Matan, a young man whose life once revolved around duty and camaraderie, was caught in the chaos of conflict. Shrapnel ripped through him, leaving wounds so severe that doctors whispered miracles would be needed. His legs, once his strength, were lost to the violence of war. Friends and family gathered, praying for a "Refuah Shlema," a complete healing, though few dared to imagine what that could mean.

But Matan didn’t just survive—he rewrote the script. In the sterile halls of rehabilitation wards, where despair often lingers, he found fire. Day by day, he pushed through the agony—first to sit, then to stand, then to walk on prosthetics that became extensions of his will. His mother’s tears turned from sorrow to pride as she watched her son, once carried on a stretcher, lift weights and run laps. His comrades, who’d seen him fall, now saw him rise.

And then came the mountain. Skiing, a sport of freedom and abandon, seemed an impossible dream for a man who’d lost so much. Yet there he stands today, atop a snowy peak, the wind whipping past as he launches downward. Each turn is a testament, each glide a middle finger to the darkness that tried to claim him. “I didn’t fight to stop living,” Matan says, his voice steady, his eyes bright with something unbreakable. “I fought to live more.”

His story isn’t just one of physical recovery—it’s a shout into the void that hope can outlast horror. On X, his journey has sparked awe: “A true warrior,” one user writes. “From war to the slopes—Matan Misan is a miracle,” another declares in Spanish. They’re not wrong. To watch him ski is to witness a soul refusing to be defined by its scars, to foucs only on what he has and what he is, not on what he had.

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the snow gold, Matan pauses at the base of the run. He’s not done—not with skiing, not with life. Somewhere, in the quiet of his triumph, you can almost hear the battlefield fading, replaced by the sound of a man reclaiming every inch of his destiny. For Matan Misan, the slope isn’t just a descent—it’s an ascent to something greater than war could ever take away.

None of us can imagine enduring such a horrific loss, and to come out smiling, and not just plodding through but really thriving