The October 9th Jew
There is a kind of Judaism that appears in moments of danger. Under threat.
When the Hamans rise up, Jews gather. When decrees are issued, Jews remember who they are. When the world presses against us, something deep awakens. We saw it after October 7th. Jews who had not thought about a mezuzah in years wanted one. Jews who had not entered the doors of a synagogue suddenly came. Jews who had felt distant from Israel, Torah, or community suddenly felt an ache, a pull, a responsibility.
That awakening is real. It is holy. And it comes from somewhere very deep.
But the Rebbe taught us that there is something even deeper.
In the last discourse he distributed, 34 years ago, a few days before he fell ill and then wasn’t able to speak anymore, the Rebbe explains a remarkable idea. There is a level of the Jewish soul that is revealed when a Jew is crushed by exile and by oppression. Like an olive, under pressure, the essence of the soul breaks through. That is the Jew living under Stalin. The Jew of Persia. The Jew who says, “I will not bow,” even when the cost is high.
But then the Rebbe goes further.
There is another kind of crushedness. Not the crushing of persecution, but the quiet ache of a Jew who lives in freedom, comfort, and safety. But still feels that exile is unbearable because the world has not reached its potential. A Jew who is not being forced to care. Not guilted. Not frightened. Not cornered by anti-Semitism. A Jew who simply wants to connect with Hashem. A Jew who wants Torah. A Jew who wants Moshiach. A Jew who looks at an ordinary Tuesday in America and says: this is not enough. I want a life filled with holiness.
That is the October 9th Jew.
October 7th Judaism is the Judaism of shock and survival. We felt it. We didn’t have oxygen to breath and were desperate for a sign from Heaven that it would be OK.
October 8th Judaism is the Judaism of urgency and solidarity. We realized who our friends are and of our uniqueness and the desire to connect with our kind. Our tribe. Our history.
But October 9th Judaism is what happens when the headlines have faded, when real life returns, when the pressure eases, and when no one is forcing the question anymore.
Are we still motivated then?
Do we still light Shabbos candles when there is no crisis? Do we still come to shul when there is no memorial? Do we still put on tefillin when the world has moved on? Do we still give our children a Jewish education when fear is no longer the main motivator?
Today, the day the Rebbe passed away 32 years ago, I try to connect with the last teaching he shared with us all. A Judaism not built on anti-Semitism. It is not a Judaism that needs enemies in order to feel alive. It is not weighted down by guilt, fear, or outside pressure.
The Rebbe showed us a Judaism of beauty. A Judaism that attracts. A Judaism that calls to the soul not because the world hates us, but because the soul loves Hashem. Because Torah is true. Because mitzvos are alive. Because being a Jew is not merely our burden…it is our deepest joy.
And when that is our reality, we can not rest until every part of the world has that beautiful connection. And we spend all our waking hours dreaming of ways to connect G-d with His children and Jews with their Father.
It is such a beautiful thing to watch and be a part of.
And maybe, that committed October 9th Jew is the hardest one to be. Cuz when the dust settles and the adrenaline is no longer running through your body, only then do you find out who you really are.
Who are you?
