Clearing my Head, Healing my Heart
It’s been two years. Two excruciating years since that barbaric day that most of the world seems to have forgotten. Or ignored. Or at least minimized. But these words aren’t meant to persuade, I write on this October 7 to clear my head & help my aching heart.
A few weeks ago, I was at a family Shabbat lunch where my Israeli niece described her recent trip to South America. Yael is tall and thin, dresses modestly, has an infectious laugh, speaks beautiful Spanish, and effuses warmth & kindness. “I love Columbia. I had been before, but this time felt so different. At one point, I was at the beach with another tourist from our group and the topic of the war came up; I didn’t want to argue, but she was so hateful. And she didn’t know anything! In her mind, it was simple: Israel is bad. Period. I decided it wasn’t worth it, so just bit my tongue and walked away.”
“Later, we were in a market & the shopkeeper was assembling a bracelet for me. Then she asked about my accent. I cautiously responded: ‘I’m from Israel.’
‘Ah, entonces no quiero venderte. Lo siento.’ ‘Ah, then I don’t want to sell to you, I’m sorry.’ She lowered her eyes & put the bracelet away.”
Yael’s husband was also with us. Physically slight, with a closely cropped beard, Harel wears a small, knit kippah on his short, dark hair. He speaks in a near-whisper, and he too effuses kindness. His brother lost an eye in Gaza, but that injury hasn’t spared Harel – he’s already been deployed there twice, and he’s been called up for a third time later this month.
“We’re all just so tired of fighting,” Harrell confessed, “I’m not even sure what else we can do. Last time I was there, I actually found a copy of Mein Kempf. I can’t believe people still read that. Worse, I watched as Hamas terrorists walked openly on the streets, surrounding themselves with women and children, and approached IDF soldiers – daring us to fire! It’s a no-win situation. But how can I refuse? Our social order depends on us serving, even with mixed feelings.”
Of course, most protesters don’t have these conversations, and most of the press doesn’t care. They have pre-existing narratives that are endlessly repeated. And while Israel has decisively won multiple military battles over the past 24 months, it has decidedly lost the public relations war. Perhaps it’s because fighting on social media rewards feelings over facts. Or perhaps it’s because this conflict has unleashed a widespread, latent antisemitism that renders impartial justice a fantasy. Whatever the reasons, the Jewish State and the Jewish People have never been more isolated. Which brings me to my School’s campus.
Last weekend, my friend Miriam and I were chatting at a football game – surrounded by our daughters, dogs, and a crowd dressed in pink for breast cancer awareness. With a sly smile and her characteristic sarcastic tone, Miriam said something about being “intellectually vacuous.” She was quoting a recent essay of mine, and though I know she agreed with the vast majority of what I had written, there was one part she clearly didn’t – hence the rhetorical jab. With us, it was good-natured. But the days before felt different. They were filled with well-meaning adults in our community shouting at and about one another based on political differences. In that noise, people focused on prevailing, rather than connecting. In that noise, we failed to remember what we share and what matters most – our love for an imperfect, but cherished State of Israel, and the sanctity of Jewish unity.
Then yesterday (because today is Sukkot), there was a student-led program honoring October 7. The teenage kids spoke passionately, but without anger. Instead, they honored the victims by telling their stories; they showed videos of young, peace-loving Israelis dancing at Nova before they were murdered, burned, and raped. They shared photos and bios of hostages, including the dozens still held captive in underground tunnels. They sang in Hebrew – beautiful elegies mourning the dead, inspiring melodies praying for a better tomorrow. And then they asked all of us to rise, and without any recorded accompaniment, by heart & from the heart, hundreds of us joined in Israel’s national anthem, Hatikva. Hope. The word we desperately cling to as we continue to heal – re-committed to Never Forget, Never Again. And forever proclaiming Am Yisrael Chai.