Israel is by no means a large country. It takes less than half a day to drive from the highest point to the lowest point, and the total population is more or less equal to the total population count of London alone. It is the only Jewish state surrounded by large and powerful Arab states which have sworn themselves committed to our destruction. And yet we are by no means invisible.

It’s very easy to feel isolated from the rest of the world in Israel. Four hundred rockets fired in less than 24 hours at innocent civilians, and the world stays quiet. A small country crying for help, and the world continues to ignore us.

But it’s also very hard to feel alone in Israel. Recently hundreds of high schoolers from southern Israel marched through the country to Jerusalem in a peaceful protest to highlight the fact that they felt that the rest of the country had forgotten about them. They were joined by people from across the country showing solidarity with them, reminding them that no matter the situation, the rest of the country stands with them.

As missiles began to fall on 12 November, thousands of Jews gathered at the Kotel to pray for those affected.

Whilst the name of the Druze IDF officer killed in Gaza at the beginning of November hasn’t been released to the public, his memory and sacrifice was on everyone’s lips. The story of the empty bus hit by a direct missile just minutes after tens of soldiers disembarked has been shared across the country, a miracle that seems too good to be true, and yet is true.

As the thousands of soldiers across the country travelled down south, to the fields next to Gaza, they were sent with the blessings of hundreds of thousands of people across the country.

And as is the way with this country, the escalation ended as fast as it had begun. Less than 24 hours later a ceasefire was declared, after the intervention of several countries across the Middle East. I received texts from my friends letting me know that they were on their way home, or at least back to regularly scheduled floor washing on base.

And the soldiers across the country, from the green hills at the top of the country to the rolling sand dunes at the bottom, breathed a sigh of relief.

Don’t be fooled into thinking that we only come together under pressure. Israelis will shout at you and then embrace you all in the space of 30 seconds. They’ll deflate as quickly as they’ve exploded, and be your worst enemy and best friend before you can even count to ten. In the year since I’ve become an honorary member of their country, I’ve experienced their kindness more times than I can count. But at this time of year  one particular memory stands out more than others.

Back when I first drafted, almost a year ago, the first weekend I was released from base happened to fall in the middle of Chanukah. I would be lying if I said that it was the most fun Chanukah I’ve ever experienced. But there I was, that Friday morning, walking home from the train station, 80 litre bag weighing me down, my body still not used to the gruelling schedule it had suddenly been thrown into.

Suddenly, like a mirage, a table full of fresh donuts appeared in front of me and my friends. We were passing a small sandwich shop, invisible at first glance, and the owner had set up a table outside, and was giving out free doughnuts to soldiers walking past.

He urged us to take them, his broken English clashing with our broken Hebrew. He asked us where we were from, and when we explained that we were lone soldiers each from a different country, his face lit up. He urged us to tell him if we needed a place to stay on Shabbat, and sent us on our way showered us with well meaning blessings and fresh doughnuts in hand.

I don’t remember what the weather was like that day, I don’t remember if I had slept the night before, but I do remember that, as I continued on my way, my bag didn’t weigh me down like it had before, and I suddenly felt like everything would be ok.

And that’s the way of this country. In war or peace, summer or winter, you’re never invisible for long. The rest of the world may try to forget about us, but as we proved almost two thousand years ago as the Maccabees fought to keep hold of all that is valued in Judaism, we will never forget about each other.