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Shimon Apisdorf

October 7th the Second

Today time stands still, again, as does the mind.

Just one event, one memory, one funeral, one photo, one melody, one hostage, is too much to grasp. When fused together, the word “grasp” is stripped of all meaning.

Yes. Today time stands still, as does the mind.

I’m now looking there, from here, at random fractured reflections …

From Yesterday to Today

For all Israelis, from last October 7th to this October 7th, barely 366 minutes have passed. From from last Simchat Torah to this Rosh Hashanah, seems like just yesterday, because in our hearts and souls, October 7th was yesterday, is today, and will be for a long, long time to come.

Civilian Numbers

778 men and women slaughtered, raped to death, and burned alive.

53 of them children. Not including children still held by Hamas.

217 civilians taken hostage; babies, mothers, grandparents, fathers, sisters, and brothers.

921 children whose parents were slaughtered, many in front of their eyes, are now orphans.

1,078 parents lost a child.

119 sets of parents no longer have any living children.

12 families had more than one member slaughtered.

70,000 are now wounded physically, or suffering from PTSD, or have had their mental health dramatically impacted.

80,000 residents of northern cities and towns were evacuated from their homes and continue to be internal refugees.

This does not include almost half a million soldiers, their families, and all that they have borne on their shoulders: Months and months fighting an evil enemy, months and months with husbands and fathers and children at war, months and months of funerals, months and months of countless surgeries and rehab, months and months of amputations, prosthetics, and lives forever changed. Months and months yet to come—there—fighting to protect the rest of us.

1 father received one piece of news today. For an entire year, Eli Shitui absolutely believed that his son Edan was alive. Today, on October 7th the second, he was told that his son was killed last October 7th, and that his body has been held by Hamas ever since.

I Remember Day 100

On day 100, I went to kikar chatufim; Hostage Square in Tel Aviv, for a mass gathering of solidarity with hostage families. There wasn’t a person there, or anywhere in the country, that could believe that it had been a hundred days. Another two hundred was beyond comprehension, and yet here we are.

On the first day of Rosh Hashanah, before the sounding of the shofar, the 101 names of the remaining hostages was read quietely. On the second day, in a different synagogue, the names were read aloud. Those moments totally transformed my shofar experience, and then it hit me: Oh my God, are we going to be doing this again on Simchat Torah, on Chanukah, and next year, and the next and the next and the next? Will these 101 souls all become one Ron Arad blur that slowly fades from memory.

What if? What if? Oh God nooooooooooooo.

David and Noam. Our Life Has Changed

On the morning of the 6th, our son Baruch loaned his car to his best friend and roommate, David Newman. David took his girlfriend Noam Ben David to the Nova festival. On the morning of the 7th, David sent a text, “Pray for me, something terrible has happened.” At 11:47am, Baruch texted David, “Any update?” No response. Soon, Baruch and his friends, armed with one pistol, were headed south frantically searching for their friend.

Only today did Baruch realize that at precisely 11:47am, Noam heard David take his last breath.

On October 8th, not knowing where to turn, I turned to the work Hamilchama by Rav Avraham Yitzchak Hakohen Kook. That night, still not knowing if David and Noam were dead or alive, I sobbed as I shared that text with a small group on zoom. Hamilchama still echoes …

On that same 8th, Baruch and other close friends of David, started to do something for the soldiers of Israel. One day the story of how those guys did what they did will be told, and it will become the stuff of legends, of which many more have been written over this last year that is a day, a day that will still become many more timeless tomorrows. Today, after totally changing the direction of their lives, Baruch, David Gani, Moshe Shear, and Ike Bodner, are leading one of the most remarkable organizations to grow out of October 7th. Let’s Do Something. Where advocacy meets action. In memory of David Newman. (letsdosomething.com)

Their efforts have not just dramatically impacted thousands of lives to date, they’ve changed our family as well.

Emuna: For the First Time in My Life

Emuna is regularly translated as faith or belief.

For me, emuna can’t be captured in one word, rather it is: An intimate, internal synthesis of events in the past, and related perspectives, that shape the very essence of who I am.

When it comes to “events in the past,” I now know that until this year I never had emuna, and as for the “related perspectives,” they are just now beginning to come into some sort of focus.

I’ve read a lot about the Crusaders that hacked countless Jews to death on their way to the Holy Land; about their burning of communities alive, and the religious zeal they exuded as they ravaged Jewish women and girls. But that was all just the stuff of history books; stories, legends, and elegies.

And then came Be’eri, Nachal Oz, Nir Oz, Kfar Aza, Reim, and Zikim; where babies were beheaded and whole families were burned to death, and then, their dead bodies, set alight again and reduced to ashes, until only archeologists trained in finding bits of human remains amongst ancient ruins could identify them. Now I have emuna.

I’ve read a lot about the marauding Ukranian Cossacks, and countless pogroms perpetrated by countless god-fearing Poles and Russians that butchered and ravaged countless defenseless Jews that had nowhere to run. But that was all just the stuff of history books; stories, tales from another planet, and elegies.

And then came Nova, and the marauding monsters from Gaza that hunted down hundreds and hundreds of young, fleeing-for-their-lives Jews. Nova, and the monsters that snatched Jewish girls and raped them to death, filmed their trophy moments, and shared them with proud parents and cheering friends. Nova. Now I have emuna.

I’ve read a lot about Haman, the King of Persia, and their plans to “kill, annihilate, and eradicate all the Jews.” But that was all just the stuff of a Megilla called Esther; stories and tales from some ancient era. And then came Khamenei and the Persian quest for a weapon that could finally succeed where Haman failed. And then came April 12th and October 1st, when every Jew in Israel sat in a shelter waiting for the imminent arrival of the largest ballistic missile attack in history. Now I have emuna.

I’ve read a lot about how German doctors, graduates of the most prestigious universities in the world, performed unspeakable experiments on tortured Jewish specimens. I’ve read about how German students rallied for the expulsion of Jews from their colleges, and about how, in late 1938, with the support of university presidents and professors, Jews were banned from German universities. But that was all just the stuff of history books; old footage, survivor stories, and museum exhibits. And then came hordes of American genocide supporting students, and Ivy League “It depends on the context” presidents and professors. Now I have emuna.

I’ve read a lot about the Maccabees and their selfless, ferocious fight to save the nation of Israel. But that was all just the stuff of history books; of Chanukah stories, ancient tales, and annual songs of praise. And then came 350,000 reserve soldiers that left their families in an instant, with their wives blessing and support, to save the nation of Israel. Now I have emuna.

I’ve read about how large portions of the Jewish people, on the cusp of redemption, with the words “What is this matter to you?” forever separated themselves from Jewish destiny. But that was all just the stuff of history books; of the Haggadah, of Talmudic tales and seder discussions. And then came large portions of Chareidim of Israel who see the reestablishment of Jewish sovereignty in the land of Israel as being something that matters to “you,” though not at all to “us.” Now I have emuna.

I’ve read a lot about the mass 1492 expulsion of the Jews from the great Diaspora community of Spain, and about the millions of Jews that just over a century ago populated the great Diaspora communities of Poland, Russia, and Lithuania, and are no more. But that was all just the stuff of history books; of documentaries, Jewish studies curricula, and eligies. And then came not the beginning of the end, but the rapidly approaching end of the end of the last great Diaspora community still standing: America. Now I have emuna.

I’ve read a lot about how the Jews of antiquity were steeped in Torah study and observance and yet saw their Temple destroyed and their families exiled because despite a cloak of religiosity, they hated one another for unreasonable reasons; and  how pirud, deep divisions amidst the Jewish people, set the stage for the rise of Haman and the near devastation of the Jewish nation. But that was all just the stuff of history books; books of the prophets, books of Aggadic legends, and eligies. And then came a year that ended on October 6th with talk of civil war in the air, and with the morning of October 7th about to erupt. Now I have emuna.

I’ve read a lot about how like one person with one heart unity enabled the Jews to receive the Torah, to be victorious in battle even in an era when Jews turned their back on God, and to turn the tide against Haman and his henchmen. But that was all just the stuff of history books; the book of Exodus, books of Tanach, and books of our sages. And then came ביחד ננצח, 60,000 volunteer farmers, a 1,000 new civilian led support organizations, and 50% of Israelis volunteering in endless ways; day after day after day. Now I have emuna.

Now, for the first time, I know:

It all happened. It’s all true, and it’s all unfolding right in front of our eyes.

Once Upon a Torah

Once upon a time I was part of a certain slice of the Orthodox world. For the last 366 days, I’ve waited for the world that calls itself “Olam HaTorah,” to say something to me. Now I know it can’t, and seemingly never will. In a way, today, I arose from a year of mourning that slice of my past, and so, I move on, as I embrace another slice of Torah. As we ask God every day in our prayers, “Please God, make sweet the words of Your Torah in our mouths, and in the mouth of Your nation, the House of Israel … And grant us our portion in Your Torah.”

Two Flags, One Tablecloth, One Bracelet, and One Coffee Cup

Two flags …

Two flags are flying from our third-floor porch. One is faded, dangles like a rag, and has been torn to pieces by gusts that have battered it day after day after day. That’s the flag I flew on the 8th of October. The other flag is strong, brilliantly blue, and flies proudly, framed by the white clouds in the Jerusalem sky. That’s the flag I flew last week, on erev Rosh Hashanah.

One tablecloth …

I have a tablecloth from my mother. It commemorates Israel’s 25th Yom Ha’atzmaut. Folded, it waits in a drawer for every Yom Ha’atzmaut. On the 8th, I spread it on the table, and there it will remain until: Until we know that once again it can be folded, and returned to that drawer from where it will await, yet another miracle.

One bracelet …

I wear a leather band on my left wrist. On it hangs a medal that reads, Our heart is imprisoned in Gaza, and ביחד ננצח. That medal is the hostages, and the fist that clutches it is a black tunnel. I pray that after 120, I’m not buried with that band on my wrist. I pray.

One coffee cup …

I have a special Shabbat coffee cup. Naturally it was in use on Shabbat the 7th, and has remained so every day since. Because just like Shabbat envelops us with kedusha, and lifts us into a holy dimension of soulful sanctity, the same is true of this war: For this is a milchemet mitzvah, a holy, mitzvah-infused war. A war that transforms and elevates everything, like a Sabbatical year, into a higher, rarefied spiritual reality.

Grandkids For Rosh Hashanah

Last Monday it looked like our grandkids from Kiryat Tiyvon would be joining us for Rosh Hashanah. You know, a bit of a breather from all the sirens in the north, and then came Tuesday. On Tuesday it became clear that Iran was poised to unleash an attack of historic ballistic proportions. The Home Front Command virtually closed the country. Beaches, schools, trains, and synagogues on the eve of Rosh Hashanah; everything was coming to a standstill as everyone was instructed to stay close to their safe rooms and bomb shelters. Clearly, Miriam and I would be staying put for Rosh Hashanah, as would the grandkids, and then came Tuesday night. The entire country, I repeat, the ENTIRE country was told that to enter their safe rooms, “For the king of Persia had taken counsel and proclaimed, ‘fire will rain down upon the Jews,’ and thus the Jews, like their hostages in Gaza, sat together in one mountain-to-the-desert, and river-to-the-sea, tunnel of fear.” And behold! “Those cursed Jews, their damned domes of iron, and their allies from near and far, thwarted the dreams of the king of Persia, and the Jews again breathed freely …”

And low and behold, by Wednesday morning, all the restrictions were lifted, and we caught the last train north to Haifa. Rosh Hashanah in Tiyvon with family was adorable and sweet, like mischievous little Ahava who can never find her shoes. The kids had fun listening for the boom of missiles being shot down in the distance, playing with friends in the park, and scanning the skies for the tell-tale smoke puffs signaling a successful iron dome hit. As for the dog, poor guy, every loud sound sends him scampering for the bomb shelter, and when I blew the shofar? Well, that just sent him over the edge.

And so we begin a new year that is, at the same time, but the second day of a year that began on this same day, yesterday: so very long ago. Today on October 7th the second, thousands are standing at the side of fresh graves. Thousands are at Nova, drowning in the embrace of music and memories. Thousands are withering away in front of us, as their dear ones wither away in the hellish tunnels built by the hell dwellers of Hamas. Thousands are mourning the last time they saw their home, 365 centuries ago. Thousands, no millions, are praying for the safety and success of our soldiers, pilots, and commanders.

Thousands, no millions, are looking one another in the heart and whispering…

Thousands, no millions, are gently taking one another’s hands in their own, and hoping …

Thousands, no millions, are giving the best of their strength, to give another, and another, but a bit of strength …

Thousands, no millions, are softly singing into a child’s heart, so that never again will love: depart …

Thousands, no millions …

October 7th the Second.

All we can do is what Israelis will always do, stand together and sing:

Hatikva.

In memory of David Newman.

David Yair Shalom.

And all the others.

In honor of precious Noam.

And all the others.

In honor of the team at Let’s Do Something.

And all the others.

About the Author
Shimon Apisdorf is the founder of Operation Home Again, the first organization solely devoted to community-based Aliyah. He has also authored ten books that have sold over a quarter million copies and have won two Benjamin Franklin awards. The Apisdorf's made Aliyah in the summer of 2012.