It is time for me to speak – or shout

That I am sitting and writing a blog for the Times of Israel means that something has shaken me to the core. It is no surprise that I am thinking about October 7^th.

It has taken me 5 months, or in terms of our reality, (Monday) 150 days, or in terms of every Israeli, 150.10.2023 – I do not know if I speak for ‘everyone’ but I am comfortable saying that I speak for the majority. October 7^th, 2023, lives in our hearts and souls as the day of the worst catastrophe since the establishment of the state.

It has taken me this much time to not only internalize that a massacre and holocaust happened in Israel on the Shabbat of Simchat Torah. A holy day of celebration turned into a day of atrocities, mass murder, attempted genocide, torture of children and elderly, gang rapes and mass mutilation of innocents… of people whose only crime is being Israeli and caught in and near their homes on the border with Gaza.

I have always been left leaning in my politics – I demonstrated to ‘return’ Gaza to the Palestinians, believing that land for peace was something real and tangible, something on which to base a future and the possibility of 2 countries side by side, Israel and Palestine. I believed. I wanted to believe that finally, the original idea of the UN’s establishment of 2 states could happen.

If on October 6^th there was any remaining hope of that kind of peace, October 7^th destroyed my naivety. My heart was broken, my soul trampled. The feeling in my body and in my soul was akin to someone hanging with ropes around my ankles from a high branch as multitudes with dull knives lynch my body from head to toe, removing my arms, my breasts, my heart…

It has taken me 150 days of mourning – restless nights, therapy, days of mental and physical paralysis – interrupted by hours’ work, and an unholy intake of Xanax and carbs. No, I do not know the hostages personally. No, my friends and family were not at the nova festival. But yes – they are my children, my parents, my grandparents, my people.

I believe that every Israeli understands how I experienced this horrific, black Shabbat.

I think that some Jews, not in Israel, understand the meaning of this horrific tragedy on the soil of Israel.

And those who remained in denial are left in their respective countries facing a level of antisemitism that reminds all the rest of us pre-WWII Germany.

My grandfather, poppa – who understood my Aliyah back in 1983 and proudly came to visit whenever he could – and sent my grandma when he couldn’t make the flight – He understood antisemitism and the value of the State of Israel. He used to say that any and every problem in the world is eventually blamed on the Jews. The Jews are blamed for everything, even their own persecution and the camps…

Herein lies my inability to come to terms with what happened:

• The fact that our own government dropped the ball, choosing to ignore the signs and the warnings (especially the alarms set by the women soldiers guarding the border).
• The fact that 134 hostages are still being held without any signs of life – the Red Cross clearly denying any responsibility to check in on their status.
• The fact that rape and sex slavery is the most likely status of the hostages, those that are still alive.
• The fact that they are starved and held in darkness.
• The fact that they do not know that we are waiting for their return.
• Yes waiting, because it is not clear that anyone besides the US is actually actively working for their freedom.

Here’s what is in me that prevents me from moving forward into the light of day:

• They have been held for over 150 days.
• The pictures of the women display the inhumane circumstances of their captivity.
• There were children among the hostages – where are they.
• I am fairly certain that if it was me, I would no longer be praying for my return – but for a quick death and an end to this torture.

I spend my days with my heart in my hands, silently weeping into the blood that runs down my arms and legs – begging for release. I go back to my childhood, when I was abused and assaulted, even when they did their worst, I had access to food, to fresh air, to sunshine…

The blackness of the hostages’ lives is only colored with blood and pain and fear.

How much can anyone person overcome before death is the preferred outcome?

Time is precious. Every minute of every hour of every day – and here we are 150 days…

The silence is a deafening sign of death.