Life is full of miracles.
The improbable and fortuitous concatenation of events, despite conflicting agendas, beliefs, and environmental factors.
Oftentimes, those miracles are easily mistaken for natural events or human achievements – as if a work of art can be reduced to paint on canvas.
But the medium of a miracle is just a vessel and a vessel can be found in nature or created in a workshop.
When an intercontinental ballistic missile is launched, the detection hardware and computer programs used to calculate its trajectory are wonderful inventions that reflect not just one man’s genius but a whole history of improbable and fortuitous events. It’s not foolproof – detectors and computer programs fail – but advanced computing translates into warnings to vulnerable populations that a missile is headed their way.
When that ICBM is intercepted by another missile in midair, fired by another wonderful system with its own even more advanced detectors and programs, the sheer improbability of the event itself staggers the mind. The success of each interception depends not just on astounding precision but on environmental factors combining in fortuitous ways. Again, it’s not foolproof – interceptor missiles fail, too; and there’s always dangerous debris from the explosion that can land anywhere below. Every interception defies the odds.
And when that missile is a clusterbomb, with multiple bombs that can explode over an 8 km radius, the odds that you’ll intercept it in the atmosphere in time – before the bombs separate – are even lower. The clock’s ticking, the computer’s processing, the missile’s roaring towards its targets – and despite all probability, it’s hopefully intercepted high in the atmosphere and detonated before any of its explosives can reach the civilians below.
Highly improbable.
Highly fortuitous.
Nothing short of miraculous.
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Look, I didn’t ask for this war.
I didn’t ask Khameini to shoot missiles at me, whether from Iran, or from Lebanon, Gaza, and Yemen.
I didn’t ask Bibi to start massively bombing Tehran and southern Lebanon.
I didn’t ask for this war and I don’t support it, in this or any other phase.
I’m not a partisan, a loyalist, or an ideologue.
I’m just a guy raising a family in Jerusalem who goes down to a bomb shelter with said family every day and knows that if one of the buildings next door is hit we’re probably dead, if there’s a direct hit on our building we’re definitely dead, if the cluster bombs separate a whole lot of people in the neighborhood are dead.
I think about that and, among other things (like what it must be like to be an Iranian or Lebanese father right now), I think about the miracles in life.
Miracles that are easily mistaken for the occurrence of natural events or the operation of advanced technology.
Miracles that can mean the difference between another breath and The End.
Miracles we truly don’t deserve.
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May the miracles never cease.
May we recognize them for what they are.
And may we soon see the day when we no longer need these specific miracles.