It’s been a year since October 7 – a date that forever altered our lives and challenged our sense of hope.
The fear, grief and loss has been crushing. As a rabbi, I’ve been so privileged and grateful for the community around me as we’ve supported each other with grace and empathy through a horrific day and a horrific year. I’ve met with communities in southern Israel, witnessed the resilience of the survivors, shared in pain and sorrow.
My heart remains with those anguished families who are still, unbelievably, waiting to be reunited with loved-ones held hostage. My heart is also with those who have lost loved ones to the fighting in Gaza, and the thousands of families in Gaza displaced from their homes, struggling to survive, as this brutal conflict continues.
I still struggle to grapple with the humanity of those driven to commit such atrocities. The fanatical ideology, the hatred, the pain inside them. It feels so distant from comprehension.
At the same time, even amidst despair, I have found myself relentlessly searching for signs of hope and possibility. I have learned that hope is not a passive state but an active, sacred practice. It requires us to acknowledge our pain without letting it consume us.
Israeli author David Grossman writes that hope “contains a verb that propels it into the future. Always to the future. Always with forward motion.” He goes on, “When we dare to hope, we are proving that there is still one place in our soul where we are free.”1
Rebecca Solnit echoes this idea of hope as a verb. She writes: “Hope is not like a lottery ticket you can sit on the sofa and clutch, feeling lucky… hope is an ax you break down doors with in an emergency… Hope calls for action; action is impossible without hope.”2
Even as we have witnessed the worst of what humanity is capable of, we have also witnessed acts of profound grace and courage.
I think of meeting Rachel Goldberg-Polin, the mother of murdered Israeli hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin, who has embodied resilience and empathy, and reminded us that hope is a stubborn act of love. Who continues to fight for the freedom of other hostages, and for an end to this devastating wear.
Her resilience and determination is beyond words. When asked how it is that she keeps going, she responded clearly: Hope is mandatory.
We must carry on with that same tenacity, knowing that our world is still capable of beauty and transformation.
It is a radical act to choose hope, especially now. Especially as there are those who would rather have us give in to cynicism. Who would rather we turn against each other. Who would rather we seek destruction and obliteration, rather than forge a shared path toward a better future.
In these moments of great uncertainty, hope becomes a sacred duty – a promise to the generations that follow, to those who came before, and to ourselves. Hope becomes a practice. We must hold onto hope as a beacon guiding us through this darkness, reminding us that every act of love and every pursuit of justice creates light.
I have seen this light reflected in the stories of those around me — the loved ones of hostages who continue to fight and love fiercely. I see it in the Israelis and Palestinians who continue to commit to building bridges of understanding and solidarity.
We cannot abandon them to despair.
May we embrace the wisdom of our ancestors who taught us that light can pierce even the densest darkness. Let us be the guardians of that light, tending to it with our compassion, our courage, and our relentless, mandatory hope.
Let us stand together against those who seek to use our grief and fear to extinguish our striving for a better, more just world. Let us work towards an end to this horrific war and that moment when the hostages can finally come home.
Let us join in this sacred work – to continue building, loving, and hoping. Together, we can create a world where light is not just a memory of what once was, but a reality that we nurture, protect, and amplify every day.
1Article in Haaretz newspaper, October 31, 2020
2Hope in the Dark: The Untold History of People Power
This piece is part of a series of reflections from the J Street community. Read the rest of the reflections here.