Please let this war just be over

There's a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from witnessing too much resilience.

Yes, we celebrate each act of giving - the meal trains for reservists' families, the fundraisers for wounded soldiers, the organ donations from the fallen.

We share social media posts about soldiers dedicating operations to murdered comrades, we organize equipment drives, we coordinate support for wives suddenly widowed.

And we should, because their fallen are the reason we get to walk this beautiful land today.

But what if we're tired of needing to be strong?

The rehabilitation videos from our clinics show soldiers learning to walk again, to speak again, to perform basic functions. We call them heroes, and they are. But behind each inspiring recovery story lies an unspeakable tragedy - a young person who should be planning their future, not relearning how to hold a spoon.

Our capacity for endless chesed is remarkable. Food appears on doorsteps of families whose fathers haven't been home in months. Equipment materializes for units in need. Donations flood in for beef jerky for soldiers, and people from across the world sponsor restaurant meals for grieving families. Communities rally around their wounded and bereaved.

But – there's an untold cost to this endless display of national fortitude. Each act of giving, while beautiful, marks another loss that necessitated it. Each successful fundraiser represents another life shattered. Each meal train signals another family struggling without their loved one.

We're exhausted not from the giving - that flows naturally from who we are as a people. We're exhausted from the needing. Tired of watching our youngest and brightest learn to navigate life with missing limbs and traumatic brain injuries. Weary of organizing support for yet another widow, another orphan, another broken family.

The strength of our society in crisis is awe-inspiring.

But wouldn't it be preferable to not need such strength? To wake up to ordinary days where our biggest concerns are mundane? Where our social media feeds show normal life instead of rehabilitation milestones?

We're ready for a different kind of resilience. The kind that lets us plan futures instead of funerals. The kind that lets us support each other in joy rather than tragedy. The kind that lets us just... be.

Let it be over.