When the Darkness Is Deepest, the Dawn Is Nearest

The promises are staggering. God declares that He will gather His scattered people from the ends of the earth. He vows to return them to their land, to rebuild their cities, to make the deserts bloom again. The prophets speak with breathtaking clarity: “You will again plant vineyards on the hills of Samaria” (Jeremiah 31:5). For two thousand years, these promises seemed impossibly distant—almost abstract.

But today, we see them fulfilled with our own eyes. Jews from over a hundred countries have come home to Israel. The land, once desolate, pulses with life. Hebrew, the ancient tongue of the Bible, is once again spoken by children in the streets of Jerusalem. The barren hills of Judea are covered in olive trees, grapevines, and Jewish families.

And yet.

Even as these ancient promises unfold, we are still in the middle of unspeakable pain. Hostages remain buried alive in the tunnels of Hamas. Entire families were butchered on October 7. Over 800 Israeli soldiers have died in this war—young men and women with dreams and futures, now gone.

So how do we live in this tension? How do we hold on to the promises of God while our eyes are filled with tears? How do we believe in the light when the darkness feels overwhelming?

At the very beginning of Israel’s history, God makes Abraham one of the most expansive, astonishing promises ever spoken:

The borders are clearly marked. The inheritance is guaranteed. God Himself seals the covenant with a vision of fire passing between the divided parts of Abraham’s offering. It’s a moment of divine certainty. And then—just a few verses later—we hit a wall:

What kind of story is this? How can Abraham inherit a land for his descendants when he doesn’t even have a single child? The promise soars—and the reality crashes.

This is not a contradiction. It is the point.

God gave Abraham the vision precisely before he had a child. He revealed the promise of inheritance in the very moment it seemed impossible. This is how divine redemption works: not in predictable steps, not in safe timelines, but in the collision between eternal promises and harsh realities.

As Rabbi Yehuda Leon Ashkenazi taught, despair is not strongest when we are far from the goal. It strikes hardest when we are close. At the beginning of the journey, there is hope, energy, movement. But when we sense the finish line approaching—when the promise seems almost within reach—that’s when despair creeps in. That’s when the contradictions appear most painful, the delays most unbearable (Sod Midrash HaToldot, 5:49).

And that is when the light is closest.

The Jerusalem Talmud (Berakhot 1:1, 5b) tells of two sages—Rabbi Hiyya the Great and Rabbi Shimon ben Chalfta—walking in the Arbel Valley before dawn. They see nothing at first, just darkness. But then, suddenly, a faint star pierces the night. Rabbi Hiyya turns to his companion and says: “This is how the redemption of Israel will come.”

The darkness seems thickest just before dawn. The last moments of exile are the most brutal. And the first moments of redemption are easy to miss if you’re not paying attention. They are small, quiet, flickering like that first star.

The Zohar teaches that in the heavenly yeshiva of the Messiah, not everyone is admitted. Only those who can turn darkness into light and bitterness into sweetness can enter. If you cannot see light when all seems dark, you cannot live in the Messianic era.

Redemption demands a new kind of vision—not naive optimism, but the hard-won ability to see God’s hand in the fog. To keep walking through the Arbel Valley even when everything looks black. To understand that the star is not a distraction from the night—it is the beginning of its end.

This is where we are right now. Israel is not in the early stages of history. We are in the painful throes of prophecy coming to life. The process of redemption is not just about return. It’s about fire. It’s about refining. And sometimes, yes, it’s about loss.

The sages spoke of the “birth pangs of the Messiah.” And like all birth pangs, they come in waves of agony and hope, destruction and life. To deny the pain is foolish. But to surrender to despair is betrayal.

Because we were told this would happen. And we were told how to survive it: by seeing the light in the dark. By training our eyes to recognize that this—this pain, this confusion, this apparent chaos—is not the end. It’s the prelude.

At Israel365, we believe this moment matters more than ever. We are not waiting for prophecy to begin—it already has. The only question is whether we will be part of it.

Through education, advocacy, and acts of charity, we are empowering a new generation to defend biblical Israel—not just with words, but with lives rooted in truth. From college campuses to Capitol Hill, from the hills of Judea to the hearts of believers around the world, the light is spreading.

But the darkness is real. And the need is urgent. That’s why I invite you to join our May 2025 campaign: Be a Light for Israel.

Help us equip more students to stand in the land with courage and clarity. Help us train leaders, publish truth, and fight the war against the Bible with the only weapon that works—light.

Be the light. Find the blessing. Support Israel365 today.

We at Israel365 have launched our annual campaign with a profound mission: Be A Light For Israel. As Isaiah declared, “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD rises upon you.” (Isaiah 60:1)
Now more than ever, in these challenging times, Israel needs your light to shine brightly. When you support this historic movement of redemption, you don’t just give—you become part of prophecy fulfilled.

Join our Wall of Light and see your impact multiply. Your gift today doesn’t just support Israel—it declares that when darkness threatened, you brought God’s light in her most critical hour.