Where were you that day?

Where were you on October 7? I was at my kitchen table, studying Talmud when there was a knock on the door. It was 6:30 a.m. on Shemini Atzeret, which brings Sukkot to a close. A knock on the door that early is never good.

It was a colleague, who had walked more than three miles to speak with me.

Despite the halachic restrictions of the holiday, he said, he had answered his incessantly ringing phone. His son had called from Israel, saying: “Abba, I’m on a bus to my base. Something happened, and it’s bad; it might be a war, we don’t know, and [even though] it’s a holiday, I had to speak with you.”

My friend had come to ask what we, as a rabbinic community, should do in our synagogues on that day. Naively, I told him I was sure things would be just fine, but that we should share the news that “something happened,” and that our thoughts should be with Israel.

Then news began to spread; the numbers of those murdered, kidnapped, tortured, wounded, and desecrated began to grow. We found ourselves in a new reality that, tragically, wasn’t all that new.

On October 7th, the Jewish people worldwide experienced horrors of a bygone era, a past of pogroms, beheadings, and bloodthirsty hatred.

Where was I on October 7th? I began the day as a 21st-century Jew, but I ended the day as a Jew connected to his past. It was frightening, sobering, and humbling. We found ourselves struggling with the oxymoron that Abraham faced, being a “ger v’toshav”–both a stranger and a resident at once, a citizen in a great country that has granted us unique opportunities as never before, yet still an outsider. Within 48 hours, we were accused of apartheid, genocide, and infanticide.

It was, and remains, a watershed moment. Past, present, and future cascaded upon the tiny State of Israel. However, unlike the past, today there is the State of Israel, defending our future. There is, despite a few exceptions, unity and clarity like never before.

Our Talmud teaches that there is no difference between a Jew born in Israel and one engaging with it; we all belong to the Land.

This, too, is what I have been experiencing since October 7th. One day, I attended a raucous Chicago City Council meeting, watching politicians refusing to condemn evil and unable to control our haters so much so that my Ida Crown Jewish Academy students and I had to be escorted out, for our own safety, by the police. Another day, I visited a shiva home in Israel for a soldier murdered on October 7th defending settlements in the south, whose body is held by Hamas as a bargaining chip. I have seen our courage, commitment, and connection to the Land as never before.

The wound of October 7th will never fully heal. Families and communities who have suffered will need support for years. Yet, that day proved that the Jewish people, despite everything, is an eternal nation because we are connected to our past while we dream of a better, ever-stronger future.

For me, the enduring messages of October 7th lie in the strength of those who have suffered, the morale and morality of the IDF, and the outpouring of support from the Diaspora.

We have enemies, and they are merciless, but we also have each other: a nation, a people, and a family even more merciful.

According to the midrash (oral text), on Shemini Atzeret , G-d tells the Jewish people, “Stay with Me, one more day.” Looking back, I can say that we have stayed with G-d, not only “one more day” but throughout these trying times, as we pray, in the words of the Psalmist: “Behold–the Guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.”

To read about the author’s trips to Israel during the first 100 days of the war in Gaza, visit tinyurl.com/MissionstoIsrael.

Rabbi Leonard A. Matanky, Ph.D. is the rabbi of Congregation K.I.N.S. of West Rogers Park and dean of Ida Crown Jewish Academy.