Much to my surprise, I am rereading the Old English epic poem Beowulf. Having been vexed by its 3,000 lines in college (J.R.R. Tolkien described Old English as “more like masonry than music”) I thought I’d never open the book again. But having recently read a review of a new, gutsy, contemporary translation, I decided to give it another try.
Epic stories are not usually my thing. I prefer concise poetry to lengthy prose, string quartets to symphonies. But occasionally, I need an opera to sweep me away in its melodrama, and to rivet me to the elemental themes of love and death. Right now, I crave the literary equivalent.
I am not alone. An unscientific survey of Israelis (I asked a few friends) reveals that after months of being unable to focus on anything but news-related reading material, many of us are now reading classic tales of good and evil. Several people reported that they are rereading The Lord of the Rings; others, the Harry Potter series. With all the moral confusion, cynical accusations, and flagrant injustices surrounding this war, it seems we are seeking solace and inspiration from heroes who defeat villains, rescue victims, and ensure that truth triumphs.
Ironically, we don’t need to look to literature to find heroes. On and since October 7, ordinary Israelis have done extraordinary things. On October 7, Noam Tibon, a retired IDF major general, drove from Tel Aviv to Israel’s southern border through rampaging Hamas terrorists, and rescued fleeing music festivalgoers, wounded soldiers, and eventually, his own children and grandchildren. Aner Shapira, an off-duty soldier, threw back rocket-propelled grenades from inside a public shelter, saving the lives of seven people, before being killed by a grenade that exploded in his hands. Esther Cunio, a 90-year-old member of Kibbut Nir Oz, narrowly escaped being kidnapped by a Hamas terrorist by engaging him in conversation about soccer star Lionel Messi. Stories abound of others who similarly exhibited the loyalty, courage, perseverance, and ingenuity we expect from epic heroes.
Each of our 150,000 active-duty soldiers and 300,000 reservists has a story to tell, too, though few are saying much. A friend recently described her 24-year-old daughter’s experience serving for four months as a combat medic in Gaza simply as “difficult.” Another friend’s son, a middle-aged former air force pilot, explained to me why he has been volunteering to coordinate ground force maneuvers and air force strikes in our central command center. “How could I sit at home?” he asked matter-of-factly.
The effect this humble heroism will have on the outcome of the war is, as yet, unknown. No one can predict how many of the remaining 134 hostages will survive, if Hamas will surrender, or how Gaza will be governed when a ceasefire is finally reached. It isn’t likely to change world opinion of culpability for Gaza’s tragedies either. When it is all over, there may be little that this war will have set straight.
Maybe that is why I am rereading Beowulf—because I know how it ends. Unlike this war—a real hero’s journey, whose storyline remains unresolved, and which is likely to see more cruel plot twists before it is over—fictional epic tales provide us with the final relief and reassurance of knowing that the sacrifices made were worth it, and morality was restored to the world.
Beowulf offers a more nuanced conclusion, too. After defeating the monster/giant Grendel and Grendel’s mother, Beowulf dies slaying a dragon. The moral? Redemption and transcendence may be unattainable, but courage imbues life with meaning.