Seven things…the day that did not end
What would it be if at any moment that we were greeted, that we tried to describe the essence of what it was to be alive? Could we summon a word, would it be a sound? A murmur, a scream?
I ran this morning, a great coping mechanism in days of intensity. I passed a few people, from our community and said “פעם שלישית גליד”, “on the third time, we buy ice cream”; it is a silly throw-away line in Hebrew, when you’ve already seen someone once, you are committing next time that ‘you’re buying’. It felt inappropriate for the day. It got me thinking on how we greet one another and vulnerability.
Today is October 7, again, a year on from the monstrous Hamas attacks against Israel that killed more than a thousand men, women, children and babies and took more than 200 hostages back into Gaza. I share in honesty some of the things that are floating through my head on these days between two of our holiest days. A High Holy Days like no other that I have known in my Jewish life.
One. This really hurts. Seeing Jews being massacred on the streets of their own towns and villages en masse were images that we thought were banished to the distant past. Wishful thinking. We knew of captivity and hostage taking in our history, we have known it in the story of the modern State of Israel but not at this scale. Jews have travelled from the far reaches of the world in the hope of a better life. In the first half of the twentieth century most of Europe was cleared out of Jews, many of whom found a home in Israel. In the second half of the twentieth century the majority of the Middle East and North Africa was cleared of Jews, a strong majority of which also arrived in Israel. It is unthinkable, unfathomable that in 2024, a part of the Muslim Arab world and a vocal part of the West cannot get behind, support and celebrate the existence of one Jewish state…a state of sanctuary, safety and Jewish thriving. Jews are grieving the greatest bloodshed against our people since the end of the Holocaust, this grief is compounded by a profound sense of communal vulnerability, for Jews and for Israel.
Two. The day that never ends. Of the factors that affect trauma, time is one factor. You fall off your bike; the trauma might end once you’ve picked yourself off the ground. Of October 7, 2023, many in Israel say of this day, it is still October 7, the day never ended. After 365 days, Israel’s war has expanded and our hostages are still not home. This makes for a level of trauma that this generation of Israeli and Jewish community has not known. A trauma that on this day, October 7, 2024, has still not drawn breath.
Three. Our family is broken. It is hard to describe how small our community has become; everyone knows someone who has been affected by this war and who has a captive in Gaza. I went to the commemoration yesterday in Hyde Park for the October 7 massacres. It was the usual arrangement of the Jewish great and the good. I am rarely wowed by mass communal events but when Ada Sagi and her son Noam stood up to light a candle for those killed I lost myself for a moment. Noam had campaigned for the release of Ada who was taken captive from Kibbutz Nir Oz in the morning of October 7; in part he had campaigned through his Masorti synagogue, New London Synagogue. Ada was released after 54 days of captivity. The people of Israel will not move until each hostage is home and every body is buried. In the meantime, we are devastated by the loss of life and a communal open wound - our hostages still languishing and tortured in Gaza.
Four. Our hearts are broken for all lives. We are not bricks; many Israelis and Jews are heartbroken at the human cost of these wars since October 7. We cannot abide by the number of innocent lives that have been lost. It is unthinkable to consider the lives broken and ruined. Tragically, Israel finds itself in a tight spot, to fight to prevent another October 7 and for its very survival or to lay down in favour of continued massacre and bloodletting of more Jewish lives. I know which one I choose.
Five. We don’t want a forever war. There are 101 things Israelis and Jews would change about the current Israeli government and the rulers of Gaza and the West Bank. And a host of things we might transform in the understanding and politics of Israel’s neighbours, but either way, we must keep our eye on the prize, ‘עוֹד יבוא שלום עלינו’, ‘peace will eventually come’. It is the ultimate prize of Jewish life to live in a peaceful world, in which swords will be beaten into ploughshares [ISAIAH 2:4].
Six. We are proud, unshakeably proud to be Jewish, we won’t be cowed. 2024 is not all of Jewish life, nor is October 7. We are a proud and resilient people who will continue to do what we do, to live, to breathe and thrive. Our politics are yours, to live in a world of freedom, freedom of religion, freedom of association. A world where each person can be who they wish to be, where each child is given the opportunity to thrive, a world in which people are not persecuted or discriminated against for faith, race, gender or sexuality.
Seven. There are two Israeli songs which have really captured the Jewish collective imagination in these months, played hundreds of thousands of time. ‘עם ישראל חי’, the people Israel live, by Eyal Golan, a crucial line rings out: ‘עם ישראל חי, אם לא נשכח תמיד להיות מאוחדים’, ‘the people Israel live, if we'll not forget to be united’. These times have significantly challenged our people, at times causing deep rifts. Especially at this time, we are called to pull together, call up your mate for whom you feel able to mend a bridge, let us hold on dearly to those we love and try to build community rather than raise more disconnect.
The second song is by Eden Golan, Israel’s Eurovision entry, 'Hurricane', written about October 7 and deemed ‘too political’ by the organisers of Eurovision after originally submitted as ‘October Rain’. The song closes with a handful of words in Hebrew ‘תמיד אתה משאיר לי אור אחד קטן’, 'you always leave for me a small ray of light’. There is light at this time, there must be; we are a people that have endured this year and come out the other side. God willing, we will look back on this year past as the worst but one which delivered us to better days, together, redeemed, re-united, stronger.
If I run or walk past you in the next couple of days and I say hello, this is actually a part of what is running through my head.
If you want to talk or learn more, I am teaching after Kol Nidre this Friday night, talking about vulnerability and what to do with it – a moment for communal processing.
I am teaching a brand new programme this year, 'Lechtecha', your journey, finding you where you are. Join us.
Shana Tova x
