Three years ago, we found ourselves facing a virus that forced us to be incredibly insular and shelter in place. It was an unsettling and lonely time for many, but even during the uncertainty that marked much of the COVID-19 pandemic we were able to glean a silver lining – the ability to see what we were blind to before.
COVID shed a light on all the challenges and imperfections in our homes. A friend, for example, told me that she always knew her husband drank too much, but being with him all day made it clear that he was an alcoholic. Another friend told me she thought she had a good relationship with her son, only to realize, by spending so much time together at home, that they were actually very distant.
My message to those friends wasn’t to give up on those relationships, but to be thankful, for now that they clearly see the issues, they can be fixed. Today, as we’re grappling with the aftermath of the horrors of October 7, the same message resonates strongly.
We suspected that college campuses had an antisemitism problem. Now we know. We suspected that voices on the far Left who claimed to be anti-Israel, may actually be anti-Jewish. Now we know. We suspected the people of Israel – often divided by politics – ultimately want to find a way back to each other. Now we know.
Seeing can be painful, but would we rather look away or be blind? Overnight, the existential crisis of October 7 compelled all Jews to come together and drop our differences to help. Our hearts are broken, but at the same time, full. We are witnessing unprecedented generosity, support, kindness, and love for one another. Each day we need to individually and collectively say, “Hineni,” (“Here I am”) and show up.
We can't go back to the way things were before
As soon as the war broke out, I immediately flew from Toronto (where I was visiting for Sukkot) to Israel, where I bore witness. I saw the carnage in Kfar Aza, I donated blood, I brought a displaced family into my home, and I hugged and supported mothers painfully yearning for their kidnapped children to return come back home.
The campaign in Israel for acts of service was immediate and comprehensive as even the people behind the anti-government protests pivoting within hours and focusing their resources on bringing back our hostages and meeting the needs of those displaced.
Chesed (loving kindness) is not “what I feel like doing,” it is rather: “You have a need, and I want to fulfill it.” We are a nation of chesed.
At Momentum – an organization I helped establish with our partnership with the Diaspora Affairs and Combating Antisemitism Ministry – we bring Jewish women from all around the world to fully experience Israel. Our Momentum Mobilizes campaign has brought more than 200 mothers – and some fathers – to Israel during this precarious time, so that when they return home, they can advocate for the country. After this life-changing experience, they have firsthand knowledge of what life in Israel is like, enabling them to take tangible action to support families, soldiers, and their Momentum sisters and brothers.
Nothing can really replicate the experience of coming to Israel today; a country that has forever been changed.
Before October 7, we used to take our participants to Yad Vashem. Now, a walk through Kfar Aza is enough to understand what genocide looks like in real time.
We also brought mothers and fathers of lone soldiers on these powerful unity missions. And while not everybody was able to meet their children in uniform, as many IDF troops weren’t allowed to leave Gaza, the ones who did hugged their kids as if they were hoping to never let go.
This searing light of insight is not a curse. It’s a gift. It has given us so much clarity and that is something worth celebrating as we mark the Festival of Lights, the holiday of Hanukkah, which commemorates the time Jews emerged victorious over Greek occupation, and their attempt to take away everything that made us Jewish.
When Hanukkah is over, we at Momentum want to encourage the Jewish world to keep the light going. The day after we light the eighth and last candle of Hanukkah, it will be Shabbat. Light the candles for your family, for our soldiers in Gaza keeping us safe and for Jews around the world who are staring antisemitism in the face. And we can do this together. Every week, the Momentum community will be inspired by a prominent Jewish mother, and together we’ll bring more light into this world.
Regardless of one’s faith, this is a moment to earnestly wish for the safe return of the hostages from Gaza. Every passing minute is critical and it’s crucial they are brought back home immediately.
But for us to experience a miracle like the one we saw in those ancient times, we have to earn it. God is not Superman. He reacts based on our choices. After all, when fleeing Egypt, Nachshon ben Aminadav first had to walk into the waters of the Red Sea. Only then did God split them.
I’m not worried about Israel. It will be fine and, like Jews have triumphed in the days of the Maccabees, with God’s help we will do so again. I am concerned for the day after when this craving for unity and ability to put our differences aside for a common good start to slip away from us.
We can’t go back to the way things were on October 6. If we do, the pain we experienced on October 7, and every moment of every day following, was for naught. And if that day taught us anything, it’s that we at last see that if we don’t have each other, we have nobody.
As we take the time to feel some joy – however ephemeral – on this holiday, I hope we learn from the lessons of past tragedies and that we use this gift given us to really see, both around us, and within.
The writer is the founding director of Momentum.