What Are Our ‘Magic Words’?

“There are no atheists in a foxhole.”

This famous aphorism, quoted by President Eisenhower in a broadcast in 1954, is very often used as a praise of religion, explaining how people embrace a Higher Power when in a state of extreme fear or despair. When there is nowhere else to turn, they raise their hands toward Heaven and beg for Divine aid.

Early in October, sirens blared across the entirety of Israel as Iran sent a barrage of over 180 ballistic missiles toward the civilian population. Fear and uncertainty gripped Jews globally. Those not living in Israel, who were not running toward bomb shelters, did what Jews do in times of distress and fear: They gathered by the dozens to recite Tehillim. En masse, they beseeched God to protect His people.

Although nearly 200 missiles, each longer than a school bus and capable of immense destruction, hurtled toward Israel, nearly all were intercepted, no Israeli deaths were reported, and only minimal damage occurred. Pentagon Press Secretary Air Force Maj. Gen. Pat Ryder explained in a security briefing that “you don’t launch that many missiles at a target without the intent of hitting something. Just like the last time, [Iran’s] intent [was] to cause destruction.”

Yet, in what can only be described as a miracle, the attack was a dud.

We all heard this incredible news, read the reports, gathered together, called out to God for mercy and salvation when the missiles were up, but when we witnessed the modern-day miracle that had just occurred, we didn’t do anything about it. We failed to acknowledge the miracle and thank Him when the missiles came down. We had called out to God when we were in distress with nowhere else to turn, yet we didn’t call out to Him when the danger had passed.

As Jews, whenever we are in distress, whether it be individually, communally, or globally, we gather to recite Psalms, to the extent that Tehillim has become synonymous with times of despair.

However, throughout the entire lengthy book of Tehillim, the majority of its 150 chapters are not begging God for salvation or safety, the majority are praises of God and extensive, beautiful expressions of gratitude.

As C.S. Lewis shares in his “Reflections on the Psalms,” “The most valuable thing the Psalms do for me is to express that same delight in God which made David dance … I find an experience fully God-centered, asking of God no gift more urgently than His presence, the gift of Himself, joyous to the highest degree, and unmistakably real.” (“Reflections on the Psalms,” Chapter V.)

God Himself highlights this important theme of gratitude in His very act of creation. “God said ‘Let there be light’ and there was light. And God saw that the light was good” (Genesis 1:3-4). God creates light and darkness and then immediately steps back to recognize and appreciate the result. In the literal sense, God does Hakarat Hatov, He recognizes the good and appreciates it.

We as Jews must always, and constantly, thank God. Whether in the mundane and common, such as eating, or the extraordinary and exciting, such as a wedding, we are commanded to express gratitude to God.

Psalms must not only be synonymous with despondency and anguish, it must be synonymous with joy and thanksgiving; we must always rejoice in the praising and thanking of God.

“Enter His gates with thanksgiving, His courts with praise; give thanks to Him, bless His name” (Psalms 100:4)

Of course we must thank and acknowledge God, as Nachmanides says: “for there is no other reason for creation” (Nachmanides, Exodus 13:16), but how are we expected to thank Him now, when we are in times of immense grief and pain? How can we continue to thank God when in the midst of a devastating war?

Following the events of Oct. 7, I co-ran a project called “Letters to The Nation” in which a friend and I would collect thousands of personal letters of support and comfort from Jews across the globe, and deliver the letters, in person, to grieving families. We delivered thousands of heartfelt letters from across six continents to dozens and dozens of families.

One such family was the Baker family from Ashdod.

The Baker family had immigrated to Israel from France not many years before. Only a few months after having arrived in Israel, the patriarch of the family died of cancer. Soon after, with the tears still wet on her face, a grieving wife lost her beloved youngest child. Naomi Baker, only 19 years old, was murdered at the Nova festival by Hamas terrorists on Oct. 7.

This mother had lost everything. She was in pain that cannot even begin to be understood. She was in the darkest of moments. Yet, she felt such gratitude to God. that her beloved daughter was not taken hostage and that her body was found whole.

It was a gratitude which I had never seen before. It was unfathomably sincere gratitude from a woman in unfathomable pain. But even in her darkest moment, when she had every right to be furious with God, she turned to Him in gratitude and praise.

It was a gratitude which I had never seen before. It was unfathomably sincere gratitude from a woman in unfathomable pain. But even in her darkest moment, when she had every right to be furious with God, she turned to Him in gratitude and praise.

That is gratitude. That is recognizing God. Especially in our hardest times, in the times when we turn to God for salvation, especially then we must thank Him and praise Him.

“Give thanks to God for He is good, for His kindness endures forever” (Psalms 136:1).

If we are able to recognize and thank God even in our times of pain, to call out to God when we need Him and sincerely express our gratitude when He saves us, to call out to Him when the rockets are up and rejoice and thank Him when they come down, then we will not be atheists in foxholes.

We will be righteous in the presence of God.

 Noam Schechter is a Straus Scholar at Yeshiva University.