Doom-Scrolling or Allyship?

Ever since October 7th, I’ve been embarrassingly addicted to my phone. In the immediate aftermath of the massacre, I joined every Israel-Live WhatsApp group that came my way, to get real time updates about siren alerts, reports of IDF retaliatory actions, hostage news, and volunteer opportunities. Whenever I wake up during the night, instead of rolling over and trying to fall back asleep, I grab my phone to check for new notifications.

Feeling unmoored by the shock and violence of October 7, I turned to constant news updates as an anchor. Somehow, knowing what was happening in real time gave me the illusion of control.

When the first testimonies from Nova survivors were posted online, I felt compelled to watch all of them. Thanks to the YouTube algorithm, once I’d viewed a few first-person accounts, I was automatically sent more videos – daily – as soon as they were uploaded.

My son suggested that I was “doom scrolling”. I countered after everything these innocent kids and peace-loving kibbutzniks have been through, how can I not listen? How can I not bear witness?

Yet part of my brain began to wonder: Why am I doing this again and again? Don’t I already know enough? Doesn’t this endless exposure threaten to traumatize me too? Maybe I’m already susceptible to second-hand PTSD?

As the weeks turned to months, I added podcasts to my repertoire of Israel updates. I began following journalists and politicians whose opinions resonated with my own. And when my schedule allows, I join the Sunday morning march for the hostages in Central Park. I even found myself debating a high school alum on Facebook, whose views on Israel sharply contrast with mine.

Sixteen months later, my head and heart feel like they’re about to explode. Consumed by the war in Israel and the rise of global anti-Semitism, I still feel rooted in October 2023.

But I’ve come to realize, there’s no amount of knowledge about October 7th that will help me “move on.” Maybe that’s what the universe or God is asking of me – not to move on. Not ever.

By remaining connected to the atrocities that took place in October, I am reminded that Amalek appears in every generation. My generation is not spared.

As we approach the holiday of Passover, may the lessons of our history—of the journey from bondage in Egypt to freedom in Israel, the Promised Land—serve as our compass, as once again our brethren are fighting to be free.

This year in Jerusalem. Am Yisrael Chai!