We can’t stay stuck on October 7, 2023

It’s almost October 7th again. A date, a moment frozen in time.

It’s all I can think about — it has been in my mind all day every day for nearly 365 days. I want to stop time. We’re not ready for this.

It can’t be October 7 yet, because the hostages aren’t home, families continue to sit in the unknown hell of life post October 7. Soldiers are still fighting in Gaza and now in the North of Israel. Thousands of people are still displaced from their homes. Too many moms, dads, brothers, sisters, friends sit waiting for their loved ones to return from the frontlines hoping they are not another number.

I thought things would have changed by now. We hoped for so much more, for so much better, one year later. But here we are — one year after the terror attacks that shattered our world — and so many things are still unfinished.

How can it almost be October 7, 2024, when in many ways my world froze at 6:29 a.m. on October 7, 2023.

I’m exhausted and I think there is a collective communal exhaustion. The weight of the past year has settled heavily on our shoulders, with no sign of relief. There’s a collective fatigue in the Jewish community — and beyond — that makes it feel like we are still locked in last year’s tragedy, unable to move forward.

I have failed. Our leaders have failed. Your leaders have failed. And the world turned upside down.

We failed to bring everyone home. We failed to find peace. We failed to protect the innocent. We failed to prevent the loss of so many lives on all sides. And as we stand on the brink of reliving that awful date, I can’t help but think — what are we doing differently? Where is the change we so desperately need?

Yet, despite the grief, the frustration, and the anger that have filled this past year, there is a small, quiet part of me deep (very deep) in my heart that remains optimistic that this can change. It’s absurd, isn’t it? To still have a glimmer hope and optimism when the situation is what it is. But here it is, that persistent flicker that refuses to be extinguished.

Because it’s not October 7 yet. We still have a few more weeks. We still have time to change, to act, to make things better. The story isn’t over, and maybe — just maybe — we have the power to shape its next chapter.

We can’t undo the past. We can’t bring back those we’ve lost. But perhaps as we approach the Rosh Hashanah and the year mark of October 7, we can use this time to ask ourselves, What are we going to do differently this year?

We need to reflect and grieve, yes. But we also need to take action. We must demand that our leaders step up and fulfill their promises. We must support the families of the hostages with every resource possible. We must ensure that those displaced are not forgotten. We must rally to provide needed support to IDF soldiers on the field but also when they get home with the care needed to heal. As Diaspora Jews, we must continue being on the front lines of the war against antisemitism while our brothers and sisters fight the war on the frontlines with Gaza, Northern Israel, and more.

And, as individuals, must take responsibility for our role in shaping the future. This isn’t just about waiting for others to fix things; it’s about asking ourselves what we can do to make a difference.

Because here’s the thing: hope is not passive. It’s a call to action.

As we approach this painful anniversary, we need to channel our grief, our frustration, and yes, even our hope, into real change. We can’t stop the clock. But we can decide what we do with the time we have left before October 7 comes around again.

We still have a few weeks until October 7. Let’s not waste them.