Months have passed since the fiercest days of fighting on the ground, during the recent Swords of Iron war.

Today the campus of Reichman University is in bloom — early spring in the air, orange blossoms drifting across the pathways, the quiet promise of renewal.

Soon we will celebrate Purim, recalling the ancient story of deliverance in the Book of Esther, and not long after, Passover — also a festival of freedom and rebirth.

Yet alongside the beauty stands a solemn reminder of the price paid by our community.

We lost eighteen of our students and alumni. Recently, another marble slab was placed beside the others so their names could stand among us — not in absence, but in presence.

We have met their families, newly bereaved, who have become part of our university family in ways no one ever wished for, yet which bind us forever.

Walking across campus, one cannot miss the visible wounds of war: wheelchairs moving between classrooms, crutches resting against lecture hall walls, the determined steps of students learning again to walk with prosthetic limbs. For many, returning to study is itself a form of healing — a reclaiming of life and future. They smile, they persist, they plan ahead.

But other wounds are quieter.

The trauma carried within is harder to see, and there are many who bear it. This is the challenge of PTSD.

In response, the university made a profound commitment: severely injured students will study free of tuition; each will have a mentor at their side; they will receive physical rehabilitation, emotional support, and access to wellness programs designed to restore body and spirit.

Faculty, staff, and students are working together to identify and support those living with PTSD — because healing cannot wait for someone to ask for help.

As a university rooted in Zionism and responsibility, we understand that gratitude must be expressed through action. We owe more than remembrance — we owe care, dignity, and opportunity.

The campus is peaceful today. The grass is freshly cut, the blossoms fragrant, and life continues.

But peace is not forgetfulness.

It is the moment in which we prepare ourselves to stand beside those who need us — at any hour, without pause.

And thanks to those who quietly stand with us, providing the means and the strength to carry this mission forward, we are able not only to promise help — but to deliver it. As a private and not-for-profit university we get no assistance to help our heroes on campus. I am reminded of Winston Churchill during World War Two reaching out and stating, “Give us the tools and we shall finish the job”.

Looking out of my window this instant at the peaceful campus, these are my feelings about the need to help our reservists; “together, we are given the tools. Together, we will finish the work”.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)