I am well aware that I am not possessed of a great deal of physical courage. It’s unlikely that you would ever find me swinging from a bungee cord or climbing Mount Everest. In fact, in one notable example, I had booked both my husband and myself for a Jules Verne “Under the Sea” experience at Sea World. This walk under the water was about as tame as one could get. Did it undermine my confidence when the staff member looked at my small frame, put an old school diving helmet on my head and affixed yellow floatation balloons to it as they do for children? Maybe. She asked me to be the first to descend the stairs into the water and made sure that all of those present were aware the “get me out” signal was raising your hand. I took two steps down, felt the water rise into the helmet and my hand went up all the way. Chances are pretty good I raised both hands with a fair amount of drama. I clambered back up the stairs the very kind staff member told me to wait at the side, that “usually the most frightened ones have the best time.” I waited until everyone else was in and, when she asked me to try again, I knew my answer, “No thank you!” I did have a lovely hour walk around the park while my husband enjoyed the sea life close up.

Yet, a week from now we will be in Israel, spending time in a country that is at war. Family and friends have all asked us “Are you sure?” They have suggested that “Surely you can wait until things are quieter.” They have even said “You don’t mean you’re going now, do you?” They have shared their fears and concerns and I fully recognize that they are coming from a place of love, for which I am profoundly grateful.

Am I afraid? In truth, I am not physically afraid. I know and trust the guides we will be with, people I have known and loved for nearly 20 years. We live in a world where danger is, unfortunately, lurking around every corner and, while I am not shutting my eyes, or my mind, to the “what could happen,” it is not even close to the forefront of my thoughts.

I think that sense of deep trust is a part of my feeling unafraid. But I think the bigger part is the absolute, unshakeable belief that this is what I must do, that I must try to help where I can and that I must bear witness to all that has transpired.

In the deepest part of my being, I know that I must know and see and experience and that I must share that with others. I know that, for me, watching and caring from the sidelines is not enough, that I have to do what I can. And what I can do right now is be present. What I can do is learn. What I can do is share.

This will not be an easy trip emotionally. My lack of physical courage is accompanied by my marshmallow of a heart. But I will go and do what I can and I will come home to tell the stories, to stories that I know will be filling my full heart.