Update (Day 981) Swords of Iron “Lone Soldiers and PTSD”

Soon it will be 3 decades since I immigrated to this Promised Land—my inheritance.

Most of you have followed this journey for many years. You’ve seen the work through my channel defending Israel in the media, and the different charities helping new immigrants, Holocaust survivors, and those who need a home here in Israel.

Together with partners, we now have multi-resident housing in five different cities for lone soldiers—young men and women who come to serve but do not have family here. They go through so much, and we want to be the community around them. 

But I have never seen anything like what we are experiencing right now. The PTSD is real. The trauma is deep. That is why I’m so excited and so committed to opening this PTSD rehabilitation center. We are putting everything into this because these soldiers need a place to decompress, breathe again, and begin to heal.

Maybe the battlefield is over, but the battle inside continues.

They need nature. They need music. They need water therapy, horse therapy, and a peaceful place surrounded by people who care. They need to know they are not alone.

I want to focus on one of our lone soldiers who lived in one of our homes, a place we called the Upper Room. His name was Daniel. He became our friend. He gave so much in his life before ultimately paying the highest price, giving his life in the line of duty to defend Israel.

Daniel loved to give. He served others. He donated bone marrow. He cared deeply for people. And eventually, he gave his life for this Land.

Now it is our turn to care for these heroes.

At every gas station, I see pictures of those who fell. Across this land, places are named and dedicated in honor of soldiers who gave everything. But friends, we must also care for those who are still alive—the ones carrying wounds we cannot always see.

In an old video interview, Daniel spoke about life in our Upper Room. He shared how he arrived as a lone soldier before his army service, how the team welcomed him, gave him space, made sure the kitchen was full, and checked in on him. He said it felt like home.

He talked about cooking pasta for the other residents, about the warm family atmosphere, about having a place to come back at night from training, shower, eat, and prepare for the army without pressure. He said he had lived in many apartments, but this was the one he stayed in the longest because it was comfortable, spacious, and peaceful. 

That is what we want to provide: a home.

Not just walls. Not just beds. A home. A place where soldiers can be seen, supported, strengthened, and loved.

Daniel’s memory reminds us why this matters.

They defended us. Now we must help carry them.