This piece is part of our Wit­ness­ing series, which shares pieces from Israeli authors and authors in Israel, as well as the expe­ri­ences of Jew­ish writ­ers around the globe in the after­math of Octo­ber 7th.

It is crit­i­cal to under­stand his­to­ry not just through the books that will be writ­ten lat­er, but also through the first-hand tes­ti­monies and real-time account­ing of events as they occur. At Jew­ish Book Coun­cil, we under­stand the val­ue of these writ­ten tes­ti­mo­ni­als and of shar­ing these indi­vid­ual expe­ri­ences. It’s more impor­tant now than ever to give space to these voic­es and narratives.

Octo­ber 7

From dark places

comes the murmur

of bro­ken hearts.

Unspeak­able words

that resur­face

awak­en­ing sus­pend­ed memory

reopen­ing wounds bare­ly healed.

And on this hal­lowed ground

you share your stories

risk­ing so much

while we so little.

Trans­port­ing us back

to Kfar Aza, Nova, Sderot,

Re’im, Hostage Square

to hon­or those that have died

or have been taken.

To bear wit­ness to that unfold­ing horror

as seen through your eyes.

Star­bursts explod­ing in morn­ing twilight

Shad­ows of bird men falling

onto rooftops and open fields 

the ground shift­ing chaotically

as you are hunted.

Coura­geous and self­less acts silenced.

Your defens­es not strong enough

to fight against so many monsters.

The chok­ing smells of fire and ash

con­sume the air you breathe.

And through the smoke

hous­es col­lapse upon themselves

Inde­scrib­able cries

and the loss of innocence

con­firm the presence

of evil everywhere.

Every­one try­ing to run somewhere

to save the life of another

to find fam­i­ly, neigh­bors, friends

to find comfort

to find shelter

to not be alone

to say a final goodbye

or just want­i­ng to disappear

know­ing that

what you love most

has been tak­en from you

Close by

the music sud­den­ly dies.

Chill­ing sounds

of life being tak­en away

before its time.

Of last notes sus­pend­ed in air

lin­ger­ing before they vanish.

A bus filled with seniors

slaugh­tered at roadside

A police sta­tion going up in flames

All vic­tims of terror

There are no rules

when it comes to killing Jews.

Unimag­in­able heinous acts

A day when 1200 lives were lost

and 2000 more were injured.

A day when 251 hostages were taken

and count­less oth­ers missing.

A day that will nev­er be forgotten.

A day you felt

aban­doned by country

by the world

per­haps even by God.

A day when the earth

swal­lowed you whole

with human­i­ty lost

amongst the rubble

Gaza War 18 Months Later

Even before the axis

tilt­ed towards evil,

danc­ing began

in the streets

to the rhythm

of famil­iar tropes.

Hatred unmasked

spilling across the land

across oceans

fill­ing the air we breathe

know­ing no boundaries

leav­ing no one untouched

by fear and uncertainty.

A dif­fer­ent plant­i­ng season

with Jew­ish blood

still fresh on the ground.

And across generations

the earth stirred

gain­ing momentum,

as whis­pered voic­es grew stronger

speak­ing with each other

remind­ing us

that we have been here before.

And as you fought to survive

each day brought

more ene­mies who lined up

to destroy you.

From 7 fronts they came

ter­ror­ists only of dif­fer­ent names

while the world con­demned you

for defend­ing yourself

You had hoped for more

but have learned

to expect less

It has been your longest war,

a com­plex war

the first fought

on your own soil.

Trag­ic loss

has made you

only grow stronger,

expos­ing paper tigers

while keep­ing wolves at bay.

And with your successes

incon­solable loss

and unbear­able pain

As shab­bat ends

wail­ing can be heard

from four corners

of hostage

square as

fam­i­lies gath­er to

find shel­ter and

com­fort.

Crowds begin to swell

as night shad­ows fall.

Emo­tions raw

and pal­pa­ble

often explo­sive,

light up the sky

Time mea­sured by

the first hostages taken

and as the clock hand turns

crim­son col­ored sand

sifts through

an hour­glass.

The rhyth­mic sound

of heart­beats slowing

some hostages brought back alive

while for others

only their remains.

A sense that time

is run­ning out.

A trag­ic and col­lec­tive reminder

of what has been lost

and tak­en from you.

Your voic­es lift­ed upward

unsure if words

will be heard…

“enough enough“ you cry out

“bring the hostages home now!” 

“we are with you, you are not alone”

The emo­tion­al landscape

with­in your borders

has made this war

even more complex

Build­ing a consensus

replaced by suspicion

and doubt

The best way forward

often nuanced.

Divid­ing the country

when uni­ty so des­per­ate­ly needed

So that you may heal

and move for­ward together.

Hope

We are here as witness

not to judge.

A bless­ing

to hear inspi­ra­tional stories

of your courage

and resilien­cy.

How you see light

through your tears

while sift­ing through the darkness

of your lives

An orange

placed at the

gravesite of your

wife,

becomes a life force.

Scram­bling eggs in a kitchen

reminds you of what it feels like

to be safe in your home.

Build­ing a city of Legos

becomes a symbol

of end­less possibilities.

A bot­tle of wine pur­chased for soldiers

a show of gratitude.

Reach­ing across ene­my lines

to focus on shared values.

Tak­ing con­trol back

one step at a time

through count­less lov­ing acts of doing.

Pro­vid­ing sup­plies or food for soldiers

for the hungry

for the sick

Ensur­ing social ser­vices and counseling

for those in des­per­ate need of aid.

Tying tzitz­it on the uniforms

of those in harm’s way.

Telling your stories

that ele­vate us and oth­ers around you

as you rebuild your world.

You have giv­en us so much

and have asked for so little

We have all been touched

but need to help you

move for­ward

before the fresh­ness of mem­o­ry fades

Your actions are a chal­lenge for all of us

to find a role in the act of doing

to help in any way we can

And, if we do not

who are we…

We are with you, you are not alone…

The views and opin­ions expressed above are those of the author, based on their obser­va­tions and experiences.

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