Brokenhearted but Unbroken: 1 year since October 7

Rosh Hashana thoughts from the stairwell. Year 5785 starts tonight. What will it bring?

As we approach the one-year anniversary of the October 7 attack, I marvel at the strength and resilience of the people around me, my people. I see a people unbroken after one year in hell. Unbroken though brokenhearted. 101 of our own are trapped in Gazan tunnels. At least half of these people we believe to be alive, starving, gasping for breath, as we here in Israel try to live our daily lives. The agonizing thought of the hostages, the agony of the ongoing war, the loss of our heroes’ lives, the beautiful young people on all sides whose lives are abruptly ended. This is the reality of life in Israel in 2024 – 5784 in our years. 5785 starts tonight. What will it bring?

Yesterday as the sirens sounded, I sat in the stairwell with my neighbors once again. How many times have we sat there, listening to the sirens and then the booms overhead? The booms are reassuring – most of them signal successful intercepts. We sit in our stairwell listening to the battle of missiles overhead. Each boom is the sound of an enemy missile being intercepted by one of our Iron Dome interceptors. We sit counting the minutes till the all-clear. In the Gulf War of 1991 there were two alert codes: one telling us to enter the safe space, the next one was an all-clear signal. These days there is just the one jarring siren, the red alert. It sends us scurrying. I warn my friends: scurry slowly! Take care! There are more injuries from falls on the way to a safe space than from falling shrapnel. We Israelis behave badly much of the time, but we behave magnificently in emergencies. We follow civil defense instructions. We take care. Most Israelis will tell you that we do not resent paying high taxes, knowing that much of our military budget is spent on the advanced air defense systems keeping us safe.

The author at a hostage family protest in Tel Aviv. One year of hell. Photo: Nili Bresler

Last night 181 ballistic missiles were fired into Israel from Iran. We knew the attack was coming. And we know that more will come. But we go about our lives. Minutes before the Iranian missile attack two Hamas terrorists killed 7 Israelis in Jaffa, a neighborhood known for peaceful coexistence between Arabs and Jews. Terror in the skies. Terror on the streets. And yet . . . This morning in my town people are out and about. People going to work, going to the gym. People doing errands. People at the fruit stand carefully selecting the most perfect pomegranate they can find for their Rosh Hashana table. This New Year is no joyful holiday – the evening meal will be bitter, despite the traditional apples and honey on the table. And yet, families will gather. Broken families, disrupted lives, displaced people from the north and from the south will come together. They will eat, pray, sing and do their best to welcome the New Year. Year 5785.

Here in the center of the country, we try to live our lives. But the lives of so many Israelis are unlivable: 60,000 people from the north still evacuated. Entire families live in cramped hotel rooms. The “lucky ones” share rooms in the homes of relatives. For the families whose homes were invaded on October 7th, the story is different. After almost a year in hotels and hostels, most are now being resettled in temporary homes until their kibbutzim can be rebuilt. Houses can be repaired, restored, rebuilt. But no restoration efforts can bring back the loved ones lost – brutally murdered. Gone forever or gone missing. Butchered and buried or languishing in the tunnels beneath Gaza.

At Kibbutz Nir Oz, we spoke with the valiant Batsheva Yahalomi, who was dragged from her home together with her children, kidnapped by Hamas terrorists. Batsheva managed to escape with her two daughters, the three of them barefoot. They ran across the desert, Batsheva carrying her toddler and holding onto her 10-year-old daughter. They spent hours hiding in the fields until they were rescued. Her husband, Ohad, and her 12-year-old son, Eitan, were kidnapped. Eitan returned home in the prisoner exchange last November. Ohad is still being held in Gaza. Batsheva stands in front of her burnt-out house on the kibbutz and tells her story again and again. “Please come in and look at what’s left of my home. Please look and tell others what you’ve seen. We want the world to know.”

Shana Tova frame in Nir Oz Kindergarten. Bullet holes on the right. An empty frame in a charred building. Photo: Nili Bresler

The “Tut” kindergarten of Kibbutz Nir Oz is charcoal black now. Charred toys and beloved books lie scattered. On October 7, terrorists threw grenades into the building, which is clearly a child’s kindergarten. The children were not inside. They were home with their families, huddled in safe rooms that were anything but safe. Children, parents and grandparents were murdered, some burned alive, the survivors kidnapped to Gaza. The massacre at Nir Oz is now our history. It is in our veins, and here, standing in the charred remains of Tut Kindergarten, it is in our lungs. We breathe in the tragedy. Rosh Hashana decorations lie blackened at the entrance of the kindergarten. The familiar “Shana Tova” frame where Israeli preschoolers traditionally pose for their annual New Year’s greeting lies hauntingly empty. Where are the children?

My WhatsApp chat fills up with greetings, we brokenhearted souls wishing each other whatever we can wish for: a less-horrible year, a year of rebuilding, a year of healing, a year of strength… People at Hostage Square often wish me strength and my usual answer is, ‘Strength, we have. Patience is another matter.’

We live every day with heartbreak but we are somehow unbroken. We are resolute. We are resilient. We pray for our hostages to come home. We pray for the safety of our people in the north and in the south. We live in hope, despite it all. And despite it all, we look forward to better times. May 5785 be a better year!