As I prepare to compete in my third Maccabiah, I find myself reflecting on how much these Games have come to mean to me.

Thirty-three years ago, I marched into the opening ceremony in Ramat Gan as a 20-year-old representing France.

This year, I return as a 53-year-old Israeli citizen, living in Israel and competing with the team of French olim brought together by Qualita. After years of carrying the French flag at the Maccabiah, this time I have the privilege of carrying the flag of my own country.

Competing this year feels profoundly different. We gather after nearly three years of war on multiple fronts against Hamas, Hezbollah, Iran, and the Houthis while antisemitism has risen sharply around the world, including in France, the country where I was born.

For me, taking part in these Games is more than an athletic competition. It is a way of putting joy back at the center of our lives, of celebrating Jewish life, and of giving ourselves hope for what comes next.

My family’s story reminds me why that matters. Eighty years ago, my grandfather, Elie, fought alongside Menachem Begin in the Irgun so that a Jewish state could be born. He met my grandmother, Rosa, herself a fighter, and together they built a family whose roots remain in Yafo, where I now live with my wife and our three sons.

Today, my eldest son serves in an elite combat unit after more than two years in uniform, while my two younger sons are preparing to enlist and hope to follow a similar path.

My grandfather fought so that the State of Israel could come into being. My son fights so that it can endure. And I carry that same spirit of determination onto the fencing strip. Three generations. Eighty years. One fight.

I fence épée, the weapon closest to a real duel. It rewards patience, precision, discipline, and self-control over brute force.

To me, fencing has become a metaphor for the way I hope Israel continues to face the world: effective when it must defend itself, but always striving to remain guided by ethics, restraint, and truth.

At a time when misinformation and antisemitism spread so easily, the challenge is not only to be strong, but to make our truth heard calmly and clearly.

Fencing is also one of the world’s oldest sports, built on tradition while remaining deeply relevant today. It reminds me that our responsibility is not only to defend what we have, but to pass it on—to build, teach, and strengthen the generations that follow.

This year, every athlete on the Qualita Olim team is competing in memory of a French-Israeli soldier who fell during the war.

I have the honor of competing in memory of Master Sergeant (Res.) Eliyahu Meir Ohana z”l, who answered the call on October 7, served first on the Golan Heights, and later fell in combat in Gaza on December 23, 2023, at just 28 years old.

He left behind his wife, Revaya, his daughter Tohar, who was only two years old, his infant son Yossef, and his parents, Hanna and Avraham. I had the privilege of speaking with his father, who told me how meaningful it is that Eliyahu’s memory will continue to live through these Games.

His family chose a remarkable sentence to remember him: “Don’t be a fork in a world of soups.” To me, it is a reminder to live with purpose—to be someone who contributes, who carries others, who seizes opportunities, and who leaves the world better than they found it. Dedicating my épée to Eliyahu, and through him honoring his battalion and brigade, is both a profound honor and a responsibility.

We owe it to these young men and women, and to their families, to continue building the Jewish future they gave everything to protect.

That is why the Maccabiah matters. It is not only about medals or competition. It is about bringing together thousands of Jews from around the world to celebrate our shared identity, our resilience, and our future. As a member of Voice of the People, I see that same spirit reflected in our community every day.

We come from different countries, cultures, and perspectives, yet we remain connected by something deeper. Especially in times like these, choosing to come together is itself an act of hope.

Shabbat Shalom.