Reflecting on October 7, One Year Later
As we mark the anniversary of October 7, my heart is heavy with reflection, pain, and hope. This date, etched into the collective memory of Jews around the world, calls for remembrance of an unspeakable tragedy—the kidnapping and captivity of many innocent lives, families torn apart, and the unimaginable suffering of the Israeli people. The plight of these captives remains an open wound for all of us, as the uncertainty surrounding their safety is a burden we carry every day. The anguish of the families of the missing is a shared pain, one that transcends distance and borders, cutting to the core of what it means to be part of the Jewish people.
In moments like these, it's impossible not to think of the immense tragedy that continues to unfold. Lives lost, families shattered, and communities left to mourn. Each person captured represents not just an individual, but a ripple effect of sorrow—affecting parents, siblings, friends, and entire communities who live with the torment of not knowing when, or if, their loved ones will come home.
But this grief is not isolated. In the aftermath of this tragedy, we have witnessed a disturbing surge in antisemitism, which has added another layer of heartache. Across academia and on college campuses, in cities that have long been considered bastions of Western values, and within political institutions like the UN and the International Criminal Court (ICC), there has been a noticeable rise in hostility towards Jews. It’s deeply painful to see the very places that ought to champion tolerance and inclusion now becoming platforms for prejudice and hate.
On college campuses, Jewish students face an environment where expressing their identity feels unsafe. In academia, antisemitic rhetoric is cloaked in political discourse, but the impact is clear: a normalization of hate that erodes the very fabric of inclusivity these institutions claim to uphold. In Western cities, once vibrant Jewish communities are confronting threats to their safety in ways that hadn’t been seen in decades. And when institutions like the UN and ICC remain silent, or worse, contribute to this bias, it amplifies a feeling of isolation and betrayal.
Yet, despite this dark and unsettling landscape, I believe in the resilience of the Jewish people. Our history is one of survival, of overcoming adversity, of never letting the world’s cruelty define us. Through thousands of years of persecution, the Jewish people have shown an unshakable will to persevere, to rebuild, and to contribute meaningfully to humanity. This gives me hope for the future.
I see hope in the solidarity within our communities, in the way Jews around the world continue to stand together. I see hope in our allies—those who recognize that antisemitism is not a Jewish problem, but a human one, a cancer that erodes the moral integrity of any society. I see hope in the next generation, who, despite the rising tide of hatred, remain committed to justice, truth, and compassion.
The road ahead will not be easy. The scars of this past year will take time to heal, and the fight against antisemitism is far from over. But we are not defined by our oppressors or our struggles. We are defined by our strength, our faith, and our unwavering commitment to a future where Jews, and all people, can live in peace and dignity.
Let us honor the memories of those we have lost, fight for the freedom of those still captive, and work toward a future where no one is made to feel like an outsider because of their faith or identity. This is my hope—not just for the Jewish people, but for all of humanity.