Reflections from the Bomb Shelter

A Journey from Uncertainty to Hope

March 2026

Dear friend of the Jewish people,

Below are some thoughts and reflections from our Chosen People Ministries staff in Israel that we hope will encourage you to pray for us and Israel.

Since late February, life has taken on a very different rhythm—one shaped not by calendars or plans, but by sirens, alerts, and the urgent need to move quickly.

What began as rising tension soon became something far more personal and sustained. In the early days, there was swiftness, confusion, and a quiet disbelief. Phones buzzed constantly with updates. News came in rapidly from all around our small country. Missiles were launched, shrapnel fell, property was damaged, people sustained injuries, and the prayer of our hearts was “Please Lord, save me and my family.”

People tried to piece together what was happening and what it might mean to the country and to them personally. But beneath it all was a growing awareness: this would not pass quickly.

“I will lift up my eyes to the mountains; from where shall my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth” (Psalm 121:1–2).

These words, once familiar, have become deeply lived. Not recited casually but held onto—sometimes tightly—in moments when there is little else to steady the heart.

Then came the sirens, disrupting the day and piercing the night.

At first, rushing to bomb shelters caused an almost surreal feeling. Families moved quickly, gathering what they could, trying to remain calm—especially for the sake of the children. The adrenaline was rushing through our being making us alert in the midst of ever-present danger. Thankfully we had quick moments of clarity and were able to thank God that humans are fearfully and wonderfully made—especially when threatened.

But as the days turned into weeks, the repetition changed everything. We were at war, our family routines were hard to keep, and stability was elusive.

Life became fragmented. Meals were interrupted. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Sleep became shallow—never fully settled, we were always ready to respond. The body learned to remain alert. Our minds never fully rested.

The shelters themselves became places of both refuge and quiet tension. Adults exchanged glances that carried more weight than words. Some tried to ease the atmosphere for the children—telling stories, making small jokes. Others sat silently, listening for updates, calculating risk, praying.

And in those confined spaces, faith was not theoretical.

It was immediate.

“The Lord will guard your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forever” (Psalm 121:8).

For many, this promise became a rope of safety, a present necessity—and not some distant truth. The Lord held us close even as we were now in and out of shelters three, four, five, and sometimes six times day. We would lie awake at night and wonder what the next hour might bring. Would the ballistic missiles be intercepted and our Israeli defenses hold secure?

For the children, this season has been especially tender—and revealing. Days, months, and years of preparation and drills at school had taught the children how to respond. They are strong and resilient yet holding in so much fear. On the playgrounds, they drop their balls and jump ropes and swiftly move to the nearby bomb shelter, having used their skills to save their lives.

Some children are anxious, eager for reassurance again and again. Others appear outwardly calm—quickly learning what to do when a siren sounds—but carry a quiet tension beneath the surface. You can see it in their eyes, in how closely they stay near their parents, in how they listen and watch body language.

Parents are carrying a double burden: managing their own fears while absorbing the fears of their children. They are trying to speak honestly, yet gently, even when they themselves feel uncertain. They are wondering how to pay bills because they are unable to work.

This may be one of the deepest trials of all.

As the weeks have continued, the question of safety has shifted.

It is no longer simply about proximity to a shelter or the effectiveness of warning systems. It has become something deeper: what does it mean to feel safe when unpredictability is what is most predictable?

Our moments of quiet are constantly interrupted by explosions; we have trouble keeping a clear head and desperately need to think about the future. Life continues—but cautiously, thoughtfully, and sometimes hesitantly.

And yet, remarkably, life does continue.

We are a resilient people. As soon as the ballistic missile and falling shrapnel threats pass, people come back to their seats in the café, continue their work meetings, or complete exercise routines. Life continues because the Jewish people have been through this before: persecution, pogroms, expulsion, exile, and all the time, the people of Israel live. This time we get to survive in our own land! Our people have had it much worse than this.

Community has not disappeared. In many ways, it has deepened. People check on one another more intentionally. They share what they have. They show up—even when tired, even when uncertain.

“Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: ‘May they prosper who love you’” (Psalm 122:6).

These hopeful words have taken on new meaning. It is no longer a sentiment but rather a deeply personal, urgent, and constant cry to the God of Israel for help.

It is prayed in homes, in shelters, and in quiet moments between interruptions.

Spiritually, this season has been both stretching and refining.

In the early days, prayers were immediate and direct:

• “Lord, protect us.”
• “Keep the children safe.”
• “Provide for our needs.”
• “Keep our soldiers safe.”
• “Let this end quickly.”

Those prayers remain—but they have been transformed and internalized so they are now as automatic as breathing itself.

There are moments of wrestling—honest, unfiltered moments:

How long will this last?

How do we reconcile fear with faith?

What does trust look like when circumstances remain unresolved?

Where is hope?

And yet, in the midst of this tension, something deeper is forming within our very souls.

“And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28).

This is not a simple or easy verse in this context. We grasp this truth but, more importantly, we hang on to the Lord of the promise.

Even when circumstances feel chaotic, there is a growing conviction that God is not absent—that He is working, even here and now.

Faith, in this season, is not abstract. Faith is life itself.

It is lived out in bomb shelters, in whispered prayers, and in quiet decisions to trust—again and again—without full clarity.

We are now approaching Passover—the season of our redemption. In many ways salvation happens in a moment, but when it comes to national redemption we know that it is sometimes a long process, as it was for the ancient Israelites wandering in the wilderness.

National redemption requires endurance. It is a marathon, especially when there is no finish line in sight.

The adrenaline has faded. Spirit-empowered perseverance is the order of the day.

We have learned lessons for survival that will help us stand the test of time until He comes and there is no longer a need to fight!

We have learned how to respond urgently—how to comfort children more effectively, how to build small routines in unstable conditions, and how to care for others.

Yet the cost is both real and a burden to carry.

There is fatigue—physical, emotional, and spiritual.

There are moments of weariness, when the weight feels unbearable.

And yet, there is something else: a quiet strength that seeps into our soul.

It is not loud or dramatic, but deeply real.

We are determined to continue, to serve the Lord above all, to entrust ourselves into His mighty and loving arms, and to stay true to His promises—both to us personally and to our people. We know He has the last word on the redemption of the Jewish people, and we wait in hope for that day to come.

As our great Messianic Jewish forefather wrote, “Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your toil is not in vain in the Lord” (1 Corinthians 15:58).

Thank you for your prayers,

The Chosen People Ministries Israel staff

Pray with Us

Please join us in praying:

1. For our staff families in Israel—that parents would have wisdom as they carry their own fears while comforting their children through ongoing uncertainty.
2. For the children—that God would guard their hearts and minds, and that the trauma of sirens and shelters would not define their sense of safety.
3. For endurance—that the Spirit-empowered perseverance our staff describes would sustain them through a season with no clear end in sight.
4. For provision—that families unable to work due to the crisis would have their material needs met and would not carry the burden of financial anxiety alone.
5. For the peace of Jerusalem—that this Passover season would bring both physical safety and a deeper awareness of the God who redeems.

Stand with Our Israel Staff

Our team in Israel continues to serve through this crisis—providing biblical counseling, distributing food and supplies, and sharing the hope of Jesus the Messiah. Learn how the Rebuilding Israel Campaign is strengthening their work.