October 7, 2023, was a day that forever altered the Jewish community. It wasn’t just a moment of unimaginable tragedy; it was a reminder of the precariousness of Jewish existence in a world that too often looks away when we are under attack. And as the dust settled on October 8, a new wound emerged—the profound silence from many corners of the world. For Jews everywhere, this silence felt like a betrayal, deepening the grief and leaving us questioning the solidarity of those we once believed would stand beside us.
To be a Jew after 10/7 is to carry the weight of that silence alongside the pain of the loss. It’s one thing to endure a tragedy; it’s another to feel abandoned in its aftermath. We watched as the voices that had been so loud for other causes grew muted or absent when it came to Jewish lives. We heard the eerie quiet from allies who once professed support, and we saw the moral equivocation from those who couldn’t bring themselves to condemn atrocities outright. This silence wasn’t just hurtful—it was a stark reminder of how Jewish suffering is often met with indifference, if not outright justification.
The betrayal felt on October 8 was compounded by the distorted narratives that began to emerge. Instead of unequivocal condemnation, there were attempts to contextualize the violence, to rationalize the pain, as though Jewish lives are negotiable or less worthy of empathy. For many of us, this moment has forced a painful reckoning: a recognition that, even in a world that claims to value human rights and justice, Jews are still too often left to fend for themselves.
Yet, being Jewish has always meant finding strength in adversity. The silence and betrayal that followed 10/7 have, in many ways, galvanized the Jewish community. It has reminded us of the importance of standing together, of amplifying our own voices when others refuse to speak for us. To be a Jew after 10/7 is to take the pain of that betrayal and channel it into action—whether by educating others, advocating for justice, or simply living openly and proudly as Jews.
This moment has also deepened the internal dialogue about what it means to belong to a people with such a long history of resilience. For some, the silence of others has underscored the need for a strong, self-reliant Jewish community. For others, it has reignited the question of how we balance fighting for our own survival with being part of a broader world that doesn’t always seem to reciprocate that care. These are difficult questions, but they are ones that Jews have been asking for centuries, and the answers lie in our ability to hold both pain and hope simultaneously.
At the same time, the silence from the world has reminded us of the importance of finding allies who truly see and value us. There were voices, though fewer than we hoped, that did speak out. Those voices matter, and they deserve recognition. To be a Jew after 10/7 is to seek out and nurture those partnerships, to engage with those who share a commitment to justice, and to remind ourselves that while the silence hurt, it does not define the entirety of humanity’s response.
Finally, to be a Jew after 10/7 is to confront the complexity of our emotions—grief, anger, resilience, betrayal, and hope—all at once. It is to acknowledge the pain of being abandoned and the strength it takes to rise above it. It is to honor the memory of those we lost by refusing to be silenced, by telling our stories, and by ensuring that the next generation understands the importance of their identity and their history.
October 7, 2023, was a day of profound loss, and October 8 was a day of profound betrayal. But to be Jewish means to continue, to persevere, and to find light even in the darkest of moments. It means holding onto the truth of who we are, even when others would prefer we didn’t. And it means remembering that, while the world’s silence may echo loudly, our voices will always rise stronger.
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