Two Years Later: How Do We Heal?

I bet you remember where you were two years ago on Oct. 7. 

I recall sitting in shul two rows behind a woman in my community. Her husband was walking out and, on his way, motioned for her to meet him outside. When she walked back into the shul, her face looked like she had seen a ghost. It was clear something was terribly wrong, but the details were elusive. Slowly, through scattered whispers and shocked gasps, the news somehow pieced itself together: Hamas attacked. Israel was at war. Like many others, I only learned the extent of the massacre after chag ended.

This year, I was sitting in the same seat, two rows behind the same woman. But the parallels do not run much farther than that, because since that day and in the ensuing months, our communities have changed irrevocably. We have changed irrevocably. 

So how are we different and what have we learned?

In these past two years, we have learned the invaluable gift of community. We have gathered time and again to rally, to mourn, to remember, to pray and to support Israel. We have also seen the ways in which individuals have stepped up. I am tremendously inspired by how my fellow students have shown up for Israel, whether it be through serving in the army, volunteering, advocating, lobbying and so much more. In the face of extreme evil, our community proved to be courageous, resilient and kind. 

We have learned to celebrate miracles, large and small. Just this past Simchat Torah, as we were preparing to enter chag, the twenty remaining living hostages were returned to their land and their homes. As I watched video after video of families reuniting with their loved ones, I could not help but feel the joy through the screen; it was palpable. When we gathered together in the beit midrash to celebrate their return and show gratitude, it was and felt different than every other time we had previously gathered. Together, we were holding on to that miracle. 

It feels as though a weight has been lifted, and at the same time, devastation remains: There are remaining hostages who have still not been returned for a proper burial, the ceasefire is fraught, soldiers are still risking and losing their lives, the “day after” is uncertain. This paradoxical feeling of simultaneously holding joy and devastation seems to have become our forte. 

Moreover, we have learned to hold these contradictory emotions all while going about our seemingly normal lives. The initial shock of war has worn off as the days piled into weeks, into months, into semesters. School and our lives in general have gone on. 

Now over 750 days later, recent changes of the peace deal have brought us new hope. Cautious and fragile, but it feels like a light at the end of a long tunnel. Where do we go from here? 

Healing, one of the highlighted themes at YU’s memorial service earlier this year, initially felt daring to me. Isn’t it bold to say that we can begin to heal? What does healing look like when it doesn’t feel like the mourning period has ended? How can we move forward from something that we cannot afford to forget?

Before Gali and Ziv Berman, two brothers taken hostage on Oct. 7 who were recently freed, left the hospital following their initial check in, they shared a message that reframed my understanding. 

Their message was inspiring for several reasons, one being their happy and humorous attitudes, after coming out of the dungeons of captivity. I was especially struck by their sense of mission going forward, as they prepared to return to ‘normal’ life. These were a few sentiments from their video that stayed with me: We will not forget the families who lost their loved ones. We won’t rest until the last hostage is brought back. We are okay — but there is still a recovery process.

Gali and Ziv made it clear that healing doesn’t mean you can’t mourn and moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting. In fact, healing doesn’t mean moving on from pain at all; it means being able to move forward with the pain, to embrace each day in spite of it. 

We can’t go back in time to a pre-Oct. 7 world. What took Hamas one day to destroy — murdering 1,200 people, taking over 250 hostages, pillaging and assaulting — will take Israel lifetimes to rebuild.

Healing is hard work and so maybe it is daring, but maybe that is okay. Recovery won’t be easy, but if there is one thing we learned from these two years, it is that we can do it together. Now is a time to strengthen our resolve and intention, to reflect on our community’s past contributions and use that as inspiration to continue showing up for Israel and the Jewish people. 

I am not sure if healing has an end date, and even then I know the scars of Oct. 7 will last, but I also know that we will be there to wear those scars, in memory of all those we have lost and as symbols of our people’s unbreakable spirit.