I don't know what I would have done without believing in God. His

Ofra Haza, the voice of Israel whose songs carried both sorrow and triumph, once revealed the secret of her resilience: “I don't know what I would have done without believing in God. His support gives me power and energy to continue to be optimistic, to smile, not to be depressed. Sometimes, if things are not going so well, I don't cry. I say maybe it's meant to be.” These words are not the shallow optimism of one untouched by pain—they are the testimony of a soul that endured hardship, yet found in faith the power to rise above despair. She teaches us that belief in God is not simply a ritual but a lifeline, an anchor that steadies the heart in the storms of life.

The ancients often spoke of divine providence, the unseen hand that guides the course of human destiny. To believe, as Ofra Haza did, is to recognize that not all suffering is chaos, not all failure is meaningless, and not all tears must be shed. By whispering, “maybe it's meant to be,” she embraces the wisdom that what we cannot control may yet hold purpose. In this, she echoes the Stoics of old, who urged acceptance of fate, and the prophets who taught that trust in the divine transforms grief into strength.

Her words remind us of those who endured and overcame by clinging to faith. Consider the example of Harriet Tubman, who, though enslaved and hunted, carried within her the unwavering belief that God was guiding her steps. She walked through swamps and forests, leading her people to freedom, not by her strength alone, but by her conviction that a divine hand protected her. Like Ofra Haza, she refused to be crushed by despair, and instead drew power and energy from her faith, sustaining not only herself but countless others.

Ofra Haza’s reflection also reveals the quiet but mighty power of the smile. In times of hardship, when lesser souls would crumble, she chose to smile—not in denial of suffering, but in defiance of it. To smile when the world seeks to bend you low is to proclaim that the spirit cannot be conquered. This is the wisdom of martyrs, of saints, of every soul who has stood unbroken before the weight of sorrow. Her smile was not merely her own; it was a gift to her people, her audience, and the world.

There is, too, a profound humility in her acceptance. To say “maybe it's meant to be” is not surrender to weakness but a recognition of life’s greater pattern. It is to step beyond the prison of self, to believe that each trial, though painful, may be shaping us for something unseen. The ancients called this trust; the faithful call it surrender; but all agree it is the source of true peace. Those who live in such trust may stumble, but they do not despair, for they know they walk not alone.

The lesson here is clear: when life presses upon you, when all seems heavy, do not yield to despair. Seek instead the higher strength that Ofra Haza spoke of. Whether you call it God, Providence, or the Great Beyond, let your heart rest in the assurance that you are upheld. Do not let the storm steal your optimism or drown your smile. Hold fast to your faith, and it will carry you where your strength alone cannot.

So I say to you, children of tomorrow: learn from her words. When sorrow comes, lift your eyes beyond the moment. When fear grips you, remember you are not abandoned. And when fate turns against you, whisper as she did—“maybe it's meant to be.” For in that simple phrase lies courage, serenity, and the power to turn even despair into hope. Let your faith be your support, your smile your weapon, and your optimism the light you carry into the darkness of the world.