October 7, 2023 – a date that will forever be etched in the collective memories and nightmares of Jewish people around the world, especially those of us who experienced it in Israel.
Like for so many of my fellow Israelis, it represents not just a traumatic snapshot in time, but rather the beginning of a dystopic reality that that, three years later, has never really ended.
The Day the Joy Died
The day started particularly early for me, especially for a Shabbat.
Saturday morning is usually a day I get to sleep in – a bit – but given this one coincided with Simchat Torah, I decided to get up early, at 5:45 a.m., and walk the 20 minutes to the synagogue I frequent.
Call me a buzzkill, but I prefer the hakafot – the joyful processions during which we dance and sing with the Torah scrolls – of the day to be somewhat efficient. Hence my willingness to wake up early to catch the particular minyan that provided this service.
Little did I know that within 30 minutes of my arrival at synagogue, a nightmare would be unfolding barely 70 kilometers away in the Gaza envelope, forever changing the way we would experience this holy day.
Much of that day is a blur. In fact, much of life since then has been a blur.
But I do remember that at some point during the prayer service, word began to spread that something terrible was underway. Israelis had been killed. Hostages had been taken.
The murmurings in the synagogue began to overshadow the prayers as confusion and disbelief took hold.
Not long after, the Red Alert sirens sounded, and we crowded into the synagogue stairwells because there was no safe room capable of holding all of us.
I cannot even remember what happened after that – whether we continued with the prayers or headed home. Such is the fog in my mind.
When the Nightmare Became Personal
After Shabbat and Simchat Torah ended at nightfall, we turned on our televisions and began to comprehend the scale of the nightmare that was still unfolding.
Soon, it would hit personally.
Sgt. First Class Yonatan Savitsky – my stepdaughter’s boyfriend who had been dancing at my wedding barely two months before – had been killed while battling terrorists at the Kissufim army post, but not before helping save 50 lives.
This next one is more personal. Sgt. First Class Yonatan Savitsky was not just a fighter in the elite Egoz commando unit, but he was my step-daughter’s boyfriend who danced at my wedding in August. Yonatan was killed battling terrorists at the Kissufim army post on October 7. He was due to be discharged from the army in five months. Yonatan and his team had been sent south to the border with Gaza to help retake an army post that had been overrun by Hamas terrorists. During a seven-hour gun battle, he helped save 50 people: 32 female unarmed soldiers from the border observation unit, three citizens, including one of the commanding officer’s wife with their baby, and 14 soldiers from the Golani unit, many of them injured, who were at the base. In a eulogy, his family said: “Jonathan will forever be missed. His smile and laughter filled the room. He was so strong and handsome and the politest person around. He made friends easily and was always humble.” “He was well-loved by everyone and people from all parts of his life came to pay respect, telling us how much his presence was like a beacon of light,” they added. My step-daughter Adi: “I knew you were the best when I met you. Every mother would pray for her daughter to have a partner like you. You were perfect. In these moments of sadness, only you would know the words to comfort me.” #YomHaZikaron #ForTheirMemories
— David Lange (@Israellycool) May 12, 2024
But the nightmare would not end that day. Nor would it end with the eventual return of the last remaining hostage more than two years later.
The War Beyond the Battlefield
I live and breathe Israel advocacy. I have since making it my full-time career in 2019, when I established Israellycool as a nonprofit.
So to say I have been affected by the explosion of antisemitism and hatred directed against us since October 7 would be an understatement. And that is coming from someone who had already been combating online antisemitism for well over two decades.
I thought I knew how ugly it could get. Apparently I didn’t.
We watched the massacre of Jews be celebrated, excused, denied and ultimately inverted, until, with astonishing speed, the victims of October 7 were recast as the villains.
We watched people tear down posters of kidnapped children. We watched open expressions of support for Hamas masquerade as activism. We watched conspiracy theories and falsehoods spread around the world faster than the truth could possibly catch up.
And those of us working in Israel advocacy found ourselves fighting a second war: one over reality itself.
The Toll of Three Years
Like many Israelis, my sleep has suffered. And without getting into too many details, October 7 and everything that followed has exacted an enormous toll on my personal life.
Then came a loss that dwarfed everything else.
My stepson Gilad was killed shortly before Passover while fighting terrorists in Lebanon.
There are some things for which words simply aren’t adequate.
Three years after October 7, I cannot pretend that life has returned to normal. I am not even sure I remember what “normal” felt like.
But I do know this.
October 7 taught us what happens when murderous hatred is ignored, rationalized or dressed up as “resistance.” Its aftermath taught us how quickly that same hatred can migrate from terrorists with guns into universities, newsrooms, streets and social media feeds, repackaged in language more palatable to Western audiences.
And the past three years have taught me something else: walking away is not an option. Not after Yonatan. Not after Gilad. Not after all those murdered, wounded, kidnapped and forever changed.
There are days when this work feels exhausting. There are days when the lies seem endless and the hatred overwhelming.
But there is also something clarifying about knowing exactly why you are doing it.
For me, October 7 is no longer merely a date marking the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. It is the day the world changed.
And three years later, while so many seem determined to forget what happened – or rewrite why it happened – I remain just as determined to remember, to tell the truth, and to fight the lies.
Because for some of us, October 7 never really ended.
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© Divuach Ne’eman R”A, 2025
