It’s hard to believe that we are approaching the two-year mark since October 7 shook the Jewish nation to its core. On the one hand, it feels like a lifetime has passed, and that time has been split into a before and after (as with the COVID pandemic). If you’re a Jew, Israeli, or both, nothing is or ever will be the same. On the other hand, it feels as though October 7 happened yesterday – I remember exactly where I was on that day and who I was with as vividly as if it were yesterday.
As a Jerusalemite, I have often felt rather disconnected from the war. Although I have a few cousins and friends of friends serving in the army, I am very lucky that I have no close relatives serving or haven’t lost anyone close to me. Most Israelis are not as fortunate. Almost everyone I know has experienced loss in some form or lives in daily fear of losing a loved one.
My friends and family abroad often ask me if I feel safe living here and send me anxious text messages whenever there is a siren. Aside from the Iran war, which was indeed scary, I always respond that I feel safer here than if I lived anywhere else, considering the surge of antisemitism worldwide. Even during the Iran war, I felt relatively safe in Jerusalem. Perhaps I would respond differently if I lived in a more dangerous area.
Desensitization while living daily life
The disconnect is often accompanied by feelings of guilt, numbness, and desensitization. Although the initial guilt of “why wasn’t it me” has dissipated somewhat, I still feel guilty going about my everyday life, working, socializing, and celebrating happy occasions, while so many of my fellow Jews have suffered and continue to suffer.
The numbness or desensitization is perhaps also a product of working in the news industry. When you are faced with daily headlines or articles captioned “another fallen IDF soldier,” “freed hostage details torture in Hamas captivity,” and “protests against the government,” it is hard not to become disheartened, discouraged, or depressed.
Indeed, there are days when it really brings me down. However, I think my colleagues may relate when I say that your body develops a sort of coping mechanism in order not to feel hit by waves of anguish each time – although, of course, it sometimes still gets to you.
Even before I started working in journalism, the concept of such cruelty and evil had been unfathomable; my mind is almost in denial mode. I can’t believe that this kind of atrocity exists among humankind, or that people could condone, let alone encourage, such heinous acts under the guise of “resistance.”
Life post-October 7
Even more disturbing is the narrative that has been built about Jews and the raging antisemitism sweeping throughout the Western world, which is chillingly reminiscent of 1930s Europe. Working in the news only exacerbates the disbelief. On a daily basis, I am flooded with horror after horror, another death, and yet another wave of misinformation or misguided rhetoric.
I have also not watched any footage or looked at graphic images from October 7. I knew that it would break me. But I’m sure this contributes to the sense of disconnect or cognitive dissonance that I feel. If I don’t look at it, it didn’t happen – or at least I can pretend that it didn’t. This mentality does not come from a lack of empathy but rather from knowing my limits and creating a protective mechanism or bubble around myself so that I don’t break apart.
Looking back now, it’s hard to imagine life before October 7. It is all a blur. I almost can’t remember what I was doing or how life looked before. All my worries back then seem futile now. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was simpler – less painful.
Then again, it’s hard to imagine that October 7 happened at all and that there are still hostages in captivity. Surely it is all one big nightmare that I’m going to wake up from one day? What would life have been like if this day had never happened? Would Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu still be in government? Would I have started working in journalism? There are so many what-ifs. But it did happen, and I can’t look away. I will never be the same, and neither will the world – and it shouldn’t be.
If there is one message or insight that I have taken from the last two years, it is this: We will never understand why such atrocities occur, and there will always be antisemitism. While this doesn’t justify or explain the heinous actions of our enemies, nor comfort those who have suffered or experienced loss, the reality is that we have no choice but to keep moving forward.
Personally, I take immense pride in being Jewish and taking the moral high road. We have to show the world that we will not back down and that we will keep speaking our truth, despite the consequences. I am not denying that it is extremely difficult, and at times disheartening, but as it is famously said: “Our enemies will always hate us. We can either stay silent and be killed, or speak up and be hated.” I’d choose the second option any day.
The writer is a copy editor at The Jerusalem Post. She hails from London and now resides in Jerusalem.