REMEMBERING OCTOBER 7
Tomorrow is October 7, a date that, to paraphrase President Roosevelt, will forever live in infamy. We Jews, of course, live on two different calendars. The infamous horror which we are remembering fell that year on Simchat Torah morning so we remembered it as a community last Friday night. Here is what I said:
Three years ago—on this very day on the Hebrew calendar—Jews in Israel awakened to celebrate Simchat Torah. Instead, they awakened to horror.
On October 7, 2023, Hamas and its army of terrorists poured across Israel’s border from Gaza to attack communities, homes, a music festival, and guard posts.
Committing unspeakably horrific acts of violence, they left 1,225 dead, 4,834 injured, and dragged 251 into Gaza as hostages. Of those, another 83 were murdered.
Tonight we pause to remember them.
As we do, we also remember the loved ones who waited for those taken away. We remember those who spent months and years fighting to bring the hostages home. We remember the communities of southern Israel that were shattered in a matter of hours.
And we remember that October 7 did not end on October 7. Hamas launched a war that morning.
As I said from this bimah six days later, they did so "knowing that an attack of such magnitude would bring a devastating response." That "those who deliberately unleash war bear responsibility for the suffering that follows, including that of their own people."
Certainly, we hope for the day when Palestinian leaders will place the lives and well-being of their own people—who deserve to live in peace—above their fanatical religious and nationalist goals of denying the Jewish people the same rights.
But nothing about the terrible years that followed can erase the event that began them. As we have for so many other orchestrated tragedies that have befallen our people, we take upon ourselves the sacred obligation to remember October 7.
There is a particular cruelty that it happened on this holiday, one traditionally devoted to celebration, to dancing, to Torah, to life. For generations to come, this date on our calendar will carry both memories. But as Jews we have learned to elevate joy even as we embrace all of our memories.
So tonight we remember.
We remember those who were brutally murdered. We remember those taken into heartless captivity. We remember the courage of those who defended others, rescued strangers, tended the wounded, and sustained one another through unimaginable loss.
And then, in the face of it all, we vow to go on.
It is the very reason that we say זכרונם לברכה — zichronam livrachah — that their memories will be a blessing. It is because they blessed us in life and because we insist, even in grievous mourning, that their lives must bless us always; that we honor them by continuing to choose life.
