Grounded on October 7

This was a Friday evening not to forget. First, my flight home to Portugal was delayed for hours — my longest-ever wait for a plane that refused to leave the runway. I can’t recall exactly how long I was stuck, only that it kept me in the airport overnight, sitting in the bar (where else?) drinking and killing time.

When I finally landed, I had to make my own way to my parents’ home. No warm welcome at the arrival hall. That should have been a sign that this wasn’t going to be an ordinary visit.

I first heard about the Nova Festival massacre sometime on October 7. I can’t remember whether it was through social media or the television — only that the news seemed vague, almost unreal. Like many others, I couldn’t believe it. As Charlie Kirk aptly said, “Israel is a fortress.” I assumed I’d misunderstood. Maybe I was just too tired.

Perhaps it was simply too much to process. The human mind resists the intolerable. We cling to denial — sometimes consciously, sometimes as an instinct — to keep our sanity intact. But then comes the moment when evidence grows louder than our lies, and there’s no choice but to sit down and face the news.

Soon the updates weren’t coming from mainstream broadcasters anymore, but from friends, or friends of friends — people who had been there, who had somehow made it out alive.

A couple of days later, still in Portugal, I fell ill. I had to move from my childhood bedroom to my sister’s. As the survivors’ testimonies began to flood the media, I weakened and nearly lost my voice.

That’s not unusual for me. My body tends to silence me when my words can’t make a difference — a defense, perhaps a survival mechanism. We blamed the dust on my old bookshelf, but deep down I knew it was a stress reaction to the barbarity I was seeing on screen.

Two years have passed. And one can’t help but feel anger — for the dozens of hostages still held in hellish conditions, and for the indescribable pain of their families who keep praying for a miracle.

Sadly, solidarity with them has been scarce. Selective indifference has become the illness of our era. When some lives matter more than others, humanity is no more than tribes fighting with each other. We stop being a species bound by empathy and become something else entirely — atomized, distracted, disoriented to the sins of our destiny.