A story from the Temple Mount that still burns in my heart — and a reminder of what's really at stake. Nine or ten years ago, a Jewish family was brutally slaughtered in a terror attack. I went up to the Temple Mount to say Kaddish for them — the ancient prayer sanctifying God's name. That's when the Waqf's Islamist enforcers (the ones the Israeli government sadly allows to police our holiest site) jumped me. They didn't just restrain my arms or legs like normal police would. No — they clamped their sweaty hands directly over my mouth. Why? Because they knew exactly what threatens them most: a Jew openly declaring the holiness of Hashem on the Temple Mount. Words. Prayer. Kiddush Hashem. They understand something many of us have forgotten: the real battle isn't just physical. It's spiritual. Nothing undermines their narrative like the voice of Am Yisrael praising God on Mount Moriah. But here's the unstoppable truth: they can cover mouths for a moment, but they can't silence a nation forever. The wheels are turning. The light is breaking through. Yes, dark times are still ahead — arrests, assaults, restrictions, maybe worse. The night always feels darkest right before dawn. But hold on to this: on the other side of this darkness is a revelation of godliness so immense, so world-changing, that every tear, every struggle, every muffled prayer will feel like a tiny price for the redemption coming. The Third Temple isn't just a building. It's the full return of God's presence to this world. And no hand over our mouths can stop that. Keep praying. Keep climbing the mountain. Keep living His name. Dawn is closer than it seems.