Lev Gotschalk ’26
On October 7, it was Shemini Atzeret. I was in shul when I first heard the news about Israel, and I was confused at first as to how people found out about it so quickly without using technology. I thought about that for a while until this past summer when I learned that in an emergency it is okay to do. This makes sense, because the events on October 7 were an emergency in Israel and to the Jewish people.
The next day was October 8, my birthday. I turned sixteen-years-old and didn’t really pay attention to the news. Then, on October 9, when we came back from Sukkot break, there was an assembly for the entire school about the October 7 attacks. We sang “Acheinu” and “Hatikvah,” and throughout the rest of the year, after Shacharit and Mincha, we continued singing “Acheinu.” For a few weeks this year, we stopped singing “Acheinu” after Mincha, but after Iran’s missile attacks on Israel, we continued singing “Acheinu.”
Simcha Levitt ’25
An entire year has passed since October 7, 2023. That is 365 difficult days for עם ישראל — days of worry, heartache, and empathy. It is unimaginable that there are tens of people who have spent this past year in conditions worse than solitary confinement, yet that is exactly what has happened and what is still happening. It is unimaginable that every day, soldiers are dying to get them back, yet that is happening, too. The very best of עם ישראל, those willing to give their lives for the sake of someone they have never met, are being lost so frequently that I — and I am sure many others — have become numb to the pain. Words that would make me wince a year ago have lost their meaning: terror, suffering, mutilation, hunger, darkness, death.
Despite all this evil that has permeated our lives this past year, life has inevitably gone on. We have lived this past year in limbo, trying to remain both connected to and disconnected from our plight so we can live our lives without being in a constant state of grief. Yet along with all the sadness, there has been positive growth. Jews have become closer, more connected, and more united. Before October 7, there was so much division between Jews; now, that sort of discord is unimaginable. We have gained perspective on what really matters: family, country, and nation.
With all this in mind, as the ימים נוראים continue, let us pray for change: free the hostages, end the suffering, and eradicate terror. Let us also daven for continuation. Let all the unity and all the chesed that has arisen this year last long into the future.
BZ Openden ’26
Nothing stopped for those of us participating in the Camp Shoresh Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah program. The dancing, the singing, the celebrating — they all continued. We knew nothing of the terror raging approximately 6000 miles away from our comfortable seclusion in the rural community of Adamstown, Maryland. Blissfully unaware, we danced, we sang, we celebrated.
On the evening of October 8, 2023, as Simchat Torah began to wane, I heard the first whispers of something occurring in Israel. I had no access to any reliable information, and when a mention of an attack in Israel reached me, I dismissed it as yet another story of an Israel-hating terrorist who murdered a few people before being neutralized — the kind of event, I am ashamed to admit, that occurred so frequently in Israel that hearing about one no longer shocked me. The news was scarce, so I chose not to fret. The staff members, who had more information about the “situation” from the groundskeeper (the one non-Jew on the campus), decided it was best to withhold from us the scant information they did have because knowing what they knew without the ability to find out more would have been incredibly troubling for us. Furthermore, as there were many non-observant participants who may never have experienced Simchat Torah prior to this event, upholding the spirit of the holiday was especially important. But most of all, why worry when there may not even be anything to truly worry about?
This displays a common human cognitive bias known as the optimism bias. When faced with uncertain circumstances, we often choose to believe in the best available option. Here, this meant minimizing the potential scope of the situation. Because of our lack of information, we donned rose-colored glasses and remained in a sanguine state. Blissfully unaware, we danced, we sang, we celebrated.
Only later did we realize that our glasses were not actually rose-colored — they were blood-stained.
Eitan Schwartz ’26
Every generation has a defining moment, one that people will always remember where they were when it happened. For our parents, it was 9/11. For us, it is October 7. I will forever recall those first 48 hours after hearing the news as if they were yesterday — the wave of emotions crashing over me. I felt deep pain for the lives lost, fear for my family who would soon be going to war, but also immense pride. Since those first 48 hours, I have been on an emotional roller coaster. In that first week of war, all of עם ישראל mourned together as the death toll rose day by day. By November, I felt a powerful sense of unity and pride while standing at the largest rally for Israel in U.S. history. The news of hostage rescues brought moments of relief. Hearing of the heroic actions of the chayalim in Gaza filled me with admiration and gratitude for their courage and sacrifices. Yet, alongside those moments of pride came waves of fear and sorrow. Fear every time the sirens went off, for the safety of my family and friends. Pain with every recovered hostage’s body, with every new name of a fallen chayal — each felt like a blow to the heart. Most recently, when we learned of the discovery of Hersh Goldberg-Polin and five other hostages, it left me physically ill. It took days for me to regain composure and return to “normal” life. But what is normal now? The definition of normal for the global Jewish community changed at 6:30 a.m., one year ago today. We are all searching for a new normal — a way to move forward. Moving forward does not mean forgetting, nor does it mean pushing aside what happened. It means carrying the memory with us as we navigate life. So, never forget what has transpired over this past year. Keep moving forward, because for עם ישראל to survive, we must move forward and be determined to ensure this never happens again.
Akiva Wolkenfeld ’26
This past year since October 7 has been one of the most challenging periods I have ever experienced. There have been times of deep sadness, uncertainty, and a feeling of being overwhelmed by everything happening in the world. Watching everything going on in Israel from so far away can make it especially hard to feel like there is anything we can do to make a difference. At times I have felt guilty that while I am safe in relative security, everyone in Israel is facing very real danger, and that I am not doing enough to help.
However, during this past year there have also been moments that have made me feel more connected to Israel. Saying Tehillim every day at school has been one way that allows me to feel connected to what our brothers and sisters in Israel are going through. Even though I am physically far away, reciting Tehillim allows me to contribute by praying for those in danger. Another moment that stands out for me was attending the large rally for Israel in D.C. Being surrounded by thousands of people, all coming together in unity and support for Israel was inspiring and made me feel much less alone. Despite the extreme feelings of sadness and pain I have felt this past year, I have also been inspired by the unity of עם ישראל.
