October 7 Reflections: An Ongoing National Trauma

Every generation seems to have an event or events that everyone says they remember exactly where they were when it occurred. My grandfather described Pearl Harbor this way; my parents the assassination of JFK and the moon landing. For me, I assumed that moment was, and would remain, seeing the towers fall on 9/11.

Then I was woken by a siren on October 7, 2023. I didn’t know it at that moment, but life had just profoundly changed for me, my family, and all of Israel. I looked at my wife; we were both taken entirely by surprise. Something we also didn’t know at that moment was that sirens were about to become anything but a total shock and surprise. We grabbed the kids and our new puppy and went into the safe room.

Thirty minutes or so later, it seemed things were quiet. I didn’t check the news, and once things seemed all clear, I took the dog out for a walk. I didn’t even think to take my phone with me.

Then I bumped into my next-door neighbor and got the first indication this was something different. He told me that the rocket fire was cover for an infiltration.

On 9/11, when I first heard a plane had hit the World Trade Center, I assumed it was a small private plane and just a “regular” tragic event. I thought the same the morning of the 7^th when I first heard Gazans had invaded southern Israel. I thought it was a more “regular” terror attack. Maybe even something absolutely awful like the Coastal Road Massacre, but nothing of the scale of what was happening at that moment. Much like on 9/11, it didn’t occur to me the devastation that was actually occurring; it was beyond what I thought was possible.

Then I checked the news.

I saw white pickup trucks with gunmen on the streets of Sderot. It was clear this was something different in kind, but still, I had no idea what I was about to learn. No idea I was living through the worst day for the Jewish people since the Holocaust, the kind of thing I believed was reserved for my grandparents’ generation, something alien to mine. And I had absolutely no idea the level of sick, barbaric depravity that was being unleashed on my fellow civilians, really not that far away from where I sat with my family.

Over the ensuing 48 hours, the extent of devastation became clearer, and the fear of what would come next escalated. Would Hezbollah do the same in the north? Would the West Bank Palestinians take this as inspiration and try to replicate it? Would Iran or others attack?

A few days after the 7^th, the Red Alert app started buzzing like crazy. It was showing the entire north under drone attack. It looked like a massive invasion. At a time when the south was still burning, and we didn’t know if Nukhba terrorists were still in the country, or the full extent of the toll of the 7^th, in deaths or hostages taken, I was overcome by a feeling of panic. Could this be the end of Israel? It turned out to be a massive false alarm, but the apprehension about my children’s safety would become a more common part of life than I would ever have believed.

In the months and years that followed, we experienced the daily dread of what was happening to the hostages, or if we’d need to attend another funeral for a hero taken from us too soon. There was an awful terror attack in our neighborhood that severely injured one of my son’s friends. There were moments when sirens sounded, and we weren’t close enough to a safe room, so we had to lie down on the ground and simply hope for the best. This is particularly unnerving when you are coaching a team of 8-year-olds and realize there is really nothing you can do to protect them.

And, of course, we experienced a world gone mad. A world where Israel somehow became the aggressor, where Israel was accused of perpetrating a genocide before it had even responded to the atrocities of the 7^th. And a media either silent or actively amplifying these claims while minimizing what Israel had suffered and continued to suffer.

On the 7^th, I was working for a startup. It was a nice job. I enjoyed my work and really liked the people I worked with. But, as time went on, I started feeling like I was living in Israel but not taking part in what was the great struggle of our time for the country and the Jewish people. I had spent years in pro-Israel advocacy, and now, at this moment, I felt powerless. I moved to Israel in my late 30s, so I never joined the IDF and was not required to do reserve duty. While I knew there was nothing I could do to contribute anything near the level of our soldiers, I felt the need to do something.

Earlier this year, an opportunity came along, one I am profoundly grateful for. HonestReporting was looking for a News Director.

Over the last five months, I have been completely immersed in the news as it relates to Israel and the Jewish people. For anyone wondering, there is no doubt that the worst of humanity is represented in the anti-Israel, anti-Zionist voices across the press and social media. They are the very worthy successors to the most disgusting antisemites of the last century and the last 2,000 years.

So, in a time of great stress and uncertainty, why would any sane person choose to immerse themselves completely in all of this awful material? For a simple reason: those who hate us are out there, and they are doing all they can to harm us and our ability to defend ourselves. Burying my head in the sand wasn’t an option for me, and working with an incredible team to fight back is every bit as inspirational and empowering as it is sometimes discouraging and traumatic.

The war that began with an attempted genocide of the Jewish people on October 7 continues. It is being fought on the battlefield by soldiers who leave me in awe of their bravery and self-sacrifice, and it is also being fought in the court of public opinion around the world. That is where HonestReporting works every day to make a difference, and it is an honor to play my role in that battle.

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