As a young girl, when asked about my favorite Jewish holiday, I would respond with an innocent “Hanukkah!” I loved seeing the candles on the menorah, getting presents, and hearing people wish me “Happy Hanukkah!” It all made me feel special.
Having people wish me a happy holiday wasn’t something I got often. There is rarely acknowledgment of my religion except for two times a year: when we learn about the Holocaust and when we light a menorah. But now, these two things seem to be occurring simultaneously, and the silence on both subjects is deafening.
On October 7th, 2023, my world was changed forever. At a music festival 6,744 miles away, 1,200 hearts stopped, and 15.2 million broke, which would become the deadliest attack on Jews since the Holocaust.
And an attack on Jews anywhere is an attack on Jews everywhere.
In the wake of this tragedy, I felt alone, lost, and confused, making me quite susceptible to propaganda, which I am ashamed to admit I fell for in the beginning. I am forever disturbed by how easily this happened, but I am beyond lucky and thankful I was saved from this brainwashing by my cousin early on.
It all begins with information starvation. By not acknowledging this event that ranked an 8.8 on the Richter scale of my heart, everyone in my life, from teachers to friends, forced me into a straightjacket as I questioned my sanity. Did it occur? Was I dreaming? How were people living and behaving as though everything was the same? I certainly wasn’t. I thought every worry was a champagne problem by becoming a master of invalidation. I asked myself, How is it right to be upset about this silly little thing when people are dying, and no one will talk about it? Desperate for answers and to feel less alone, I turned to the Instagram account of a Jew whom I had grown to rely on for news on current events. In regards to Israel, left-leaning sources are quite a gamble. But in regards to everything else, right-leaning sources are walking red flags –literally. But since this man was Jewish, I figured he would have the information I needed. It led to me reposting a video of the son of two Holocaust survivors condemning a woman for her support of Israel.
In that post, I was exposed to the idea of Israelis being just as bad as Nazis. If I was not awakened by other perspectives and my cousin’s striking message in response, who’s to say where I would be now? Even now, my friends repost false messages from their trusted sources. Posts painting Israelis, therefore Jews, and therefore me, as the villain. Posts that end with backing from BDS, a well-known anti-Semitic organization wishing not only for the eradication of Jews from Israel but also the eradication of Jews from Earth. I read, and I read. I close my eyes and feel the burn behind my eyelids and in my heart. I breathe out a breath for my brothers and sisters in Israel who have not been granted that opportunity. I wish I could scream. I wish I could talk to someone. But who am I to talk to? Who am I to trust? I don’t know who has been infected by the propaganda disease. Everyone I would typically trust is against me. And everyone I’m against is somehow for me. This war has turned my life around and changed me wholly.
I always believed I had a strong stomach. When I took our school’s Holocaust and Human Behavior class last year, I studied Latvia, a place known for its mobile killing squads. When I went to the Holocaust Memorial Museum, I looked over the barriers in place to hide the particularly disturbing images and footage. But the DM I received from my cousin changed everything. I discovered I didn’t have a strong stomach; I was just desensitized. She placed me in the shoes of Israeli Jews and forced me to picture what would happen to me and my family if we lived there. She detailed the atrocities Hamas was inflicting upon families but described it as if it were my family. Water as salty as the Dead Sea gathered in the corners of my eyes. After reading, a weight descended upon my chest and shoulders, and a chill froze my body. My fingers were weak as they searched for a pencil to break or paper to rip. My eyebrows reached for each other the way I wished I could reach for my family and community. I viewed myself with disgust and shame, knowing I had disgraced my community by defending and annihilating the people. A combination of remorse, sadness, and anger brewed within my soul. I never wanted to feel the way it made me feel again. So, I avoided reading the articles or watching the videos I had asked her to send. I even avoided opening my DMs because I couldn’t respond to hers. I felt so awful about myself, so terrible for Israel. After the nausea I had from one article and the suffering my cousin educated me on and therefore induced in me, I no longer believed in my strength. If I went back to the Holocaust Museum, I don’t think I could look over those barriers. I couldn’t watch the news because I couldn’t trust how I would react. But it was everywhere now. As I tried to avoid and hide from it, I would think, How is it fair for me not to read these articles? How is it fair to take the time to mentally prepare myself for this, to take my time when these are all luxuries my brothers and sisters in Israel can not afford? I knew I owed it to her and my community to educate myself so I never made a mistake again. But I could never bring myself to do the research. The ache it caused was too great. October made me feel like a complete and utter failure as a Jew and person. Because yes, no one was talking about it, but then again, neither was I. I was so afraid of staying quiet and simultaneously afraid of what would happen when I spoke.
Everyone thinks not me, not here, but with anti-Semitism up 400% in America, it is here, and it could be me. When I found out that my teammate drew a swastika on a senior car as we decorated them for sectionals, and the only repercussions he faced were being pulled out of one meeting, I realized that all this war is doing is validating hate. Hate that will get worse. Hate that will continue. Hate that will go unpunished. Hate that will become normal.
Everyone will become so desensitized that if I die because the police offer that has been outside my temple since I was seven years old can’t protect me, or if I’m beaten up because my necklace was just a little too noticeable, I will just become another number in the statistics of dead and hurt Jewish victims and it won’t even matter because if this war has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t really matter.
But why should it be all on me? Why should it only be on Jews to explain and defend their suffering? Why should they have to defend their suffering? Why is it not victim-blaming when Jews are the victims? Why is the chant “globalize intifada” – a phrase calling for the extermination of Jews and their intended safe haven of Israel – not considered harassment or intimidation by Harvard University or UPenn? Anger radiates through me as I ask why the media can’t be on our side for once. How can politicians and rabbis call for a ceasefire between Israel and Gaza, when it would mean the end of Israel as we know it? When a humanitarian ceasefire did occur, and Hamas broke it within fifteen minutes, why was there so much silence? You see Israelis and Jews calling for Israeli freedom while simultaneously acknowledging that Palestinians deserve rights and democracy as well. But when will we see a Palestinian grant that same wish for Jews? And why, why, is no one talking?
I never fully grasped what the phrase “generational trauma” meant until now. As I exist in a world filled with such hate, as I see the silence surrounding me, I understand. I feel insignificant.
No one is defending us because we are not worth defending. I am not worth defending.
The world has gone mute because it doesn’t matter. I don’t matter.
People say we did it to ourselves. According to them, we don’t deserve the country that was established after our genocide to be a haven for our people. We don’t deserve this country because we don’t deserve safety. I don’t deserve safety.
No one will support me because I don’t need or deserve support.
Everyone will blame me because I am a scapegoat.
I can’t trust anyone because no one is on my side.
And so my cynicism is back again. Because while you sit back and let my people die, while you tell them it was their fault, and that they deserve this; while you see the rise in antisemitism and you contribute to it with your blind support of a power that proudly states in their charter that they want to eradicate the Jewish people; I just don’t believe you when you tell me “Happy Hanukkah!” Because honestly, it isn’t one. And I can’t bring myself to be thankful because I know you’re only doing it to feel better about your own ignorance. And support means nothing when it is only seasonal.
