It was October 2014. My family gathered at the base of our apartment building with neighbors and friends, beneath a tent covered in palm fronds. A slight chill lingered in the air as the song of parakeets danced in the wind, and laughter filled what I would later learn was called a sukkah. We sat on plastic chairs, sharing stories, trading jokes, and giving thanks for having narrowly missed the rain.
This was my family’s first time celebrating Sukkot, the Feast of Tabernacles. Our gracious neighbors had invited my Christian American expat family to join them, offering us a deeper glimpse into their faith, their culture, and the providence of God.
They explained the meaning behind the structure of the sukkah, the symbolism of the Four Species, and how this holiday serves as a reminder of the Lord’s protection and care for His people in the wilderness and thanksgiving for the harvest. Coming just days after the solemnity of Yom Kippur, Sukkot felt like a celebration of radical joy, as families came together with overflowing gratitude and a renewed feeling of community.
The memory of October 7
Fast forward to today, a decade later, with Sukkot having just ended. The festival remains a celebration, yet it is now shadowed by the memory of two years ago. In 2023, October 7 coincided with Simchat Torah, which is celebrated the day after Sukkot and is one of the most joyous days on the Jewish calendar.
Families still gather, prayers are still sung, though now they carry the weight of pain and grief. I watch as friends and loved ones strive to hold these two opposing truths and memories together. I sit here, trying to reconcile all that has happened between my first introduction and this year’s anniversary.
As we approached this second anniversary, I told myself to stay offline, knowing that footage and photos from the massacre would flood my feed. However, ultimately, I couldn’t look away. Though it pains my heart to see the names of those murdered, and the bodies of those still held in captivity, I felt compelled to bear witness in some small fashion, to remember the lives so egregiously taken, and to mourn for the communities once devoted to building lasting peace and celebrating love and life.
I kept returning, I kept scrolling, letting grief crash around me, knowing that it is good to feel, and it means I have not let my heart be hardened or numb to the suffering.
In the midst of every emotion – grief, anger, and overwhelming sadness – I asked myself, why? Why continue down this road? Why keep advocating for Israel? In those dark moments, when it all feels too heavy to bear, the quiet answer comes.
Caring as a Christian
As a Christian, I feel called to care, it’s that simple. This is why our hearts ache when people we have never met suffer across the world. We are commanded to have compassion, to speak for those without a voice. We join hands, partner, and encourage one another as we walk a road marked by uncertainty and challenge.
In the aftermath of October 7, my Christian calling manifests in many ways. Sometimes it means standing up and stepping out, joining with the Jewish community to rally, to march, to take a clear stand against those who celebrate death and devastation. Other times, it means sitting in silence, allowing our presence to speak louder than words ever could.
It can mean breaking bread together, finding moments of joy and allyship with our Jewish friends, and ensuring that those who grieve most deeply know they are not alone, that they have a community, even beyond their own, standing with them and ready to answer the call of obedience.
Today, we look toward a future marked by many unknowns, about the ceasefire, about future peace in Israel with its neighbors. A fragile hope, the beginning of a new chapter, swings precariously amid tense and uncertain negotiations. Yet even in this moment, we are called to remain faithful. Though it may feel as though we are wandering in our own desert, we cling to the promises and steadfastness of God. We follow in obedience, even amid confusion, uncertainty, and a lack of understanding.
It is this faithfulness that moves us to say “never again” and gives life to the chant “we will dance again.” It is a resilience that is not our own.
As we navigated the holiday season just passed, one of both celebration and sorrow, we are reminded of our calling: to love, to advocate within the spaces we’ve been given, and to remind one another that we are not alone. We walk in obedience, and through that obedience, we find the strength to reconcile life and loss.
The writer is associate director of alumni engagement at Passages Israel, a Christian organization dedicated to bringing students to Israel and equipping young leaders to support Israel and the Jewish people in communities across the United States.