When trying to come up with how to articulate how I feel about it being one year since October 7, I kept drawing a blank. The way in which people remember exactly where they were, what they were doing, whom they were with at certain pivotal, life-altering events—that is how I feel about October 7. In that moment, time stopped—and the uncertainty of it all was consuming. It was impossible to find any hint of comfort; not knowing how my family and friends were doing, what was happening, and how Israel would emerge from this moment was terrifying. In my head, Israel has always been “invincible.” No matter the countless number of terrorist attacks, hateful messages and individuals plotting against them, they would always emerge stronger, and more united, than before. Yet, in that moment, I, along with millions of others Jews worldwide, was filled with a new sense of doubt and worry.
Coupled with the overwhelming uncertainty was also a crippling sense of fear—not only of the state of my loved ones in Israel and this nation—but of the drastic, almost immediate rise of antisemitism. Something about October 7 enabled individuals hiding their antisemitic beliefs to feel empowered to speak up and spew their misguided, immoral perspectives across a multitude of different platforms. Never before have I been scared to walk around with my Star of David necklace, or for my dad and brother to wear a kippah out in public, but this is where I found my mind running to on this day, and for the months following.
For the second semester of my senior year, I was blessed to be able to go on the long-awaited Israel trip with my class. While I have been to Israel in the past, this span of three months in my favorite place in the world was incomparable to any other experience I have ever had. It strengthened my connection to the land, the people, the culture, and my passion about the conflict. To be able to be there firsthand, to be alongside my family and friends and witness the destruction and harm unleashed upon this land, was one of the most impactful moments of my life. The country felt different: Yes, it retained that same sense of holiness, but the air of mourning was prominent. The walk down the ramp into Ben Gurion Airport is one of my favorite feelings, but it no longer felt the same, with signs of hostages lining the side of the ramp, yellow ribbons tied to the railings. It served as a reminder of all that this country has and continues to endure, and it is no longer the place it once was.
The country lost so much on October 7 and the months following, and it continues to fight every single day for its right to exist. It is crazy to think that October 7 used to be any other ordinary day, just one out of 365 days of the year, but now it is a day that will go down as the worst day in Israel’s history. Israel is a small nation, and there is not a single person who does not know, or know of, someone who passed away since October 7. It affected everyone, and will leave a lasting imprint on the history of Israel and the Jewish people for the rest of time.
Israel—the strongest, most resilient and incredible place in the world. It is difficult to feel so far from there, to not be able to be there for my family. I cannot describe how it feels to know that this nightmare is their reality. Having to text my friends on gap years to make sure they are OK after rocket fire and ensure their well-being, is not normal. Having to text my family to ensure they did not have to spend their night in a bomb shelter is not normal. Having to constantly refresh my Instagram feed to see a new spurge of rocket fire over various parts of the land is not normal. None of this is normal—nor can it be normalized. Regardless of your stance on the conflict, it is impossible to objectively look at what Israel is enduring and has been enduring for a year now and justify it. The country has been mourning for a year and only continues to mourn. There has never been a more important and pressing time than now to stand unified with the nation of Israel, to show them they are not alone in a year that felt so isolating, a year where it felt like the whole word was against them.
We cannot forget about the individuals still held hostage in Gaza, not being able to see their loved ones and go about their daily routine for a year now. The things we take for granted on a day-to-day basis—spending time with friends, going to school, having food on our plate—are luxuries that have not been afforded to these individuals in 365 days. Three Hundred Sixty Five Days. Bringing the Hostages Home is NOT a political issue. We cannot forget those who perished in Gaza, and those who continue to endure a living hell, who need to be brought home. Bring Them Home Now.
Talia Perlstein is a graduate of Golda Och Academy in West Orange and a freshman at the University of Wisconsin.
