Michele Freund is a Touro University-trained Physician Assistant in New York, who volunteered in Ichilov Hospital on October 7, 2023 On October 7, 2023, at precisely 6:29 a.m., the world changed irrevocably. That day we witnessed humanity at its worst, as our deepest fears became a reality. As I sit here on the Tel Aviv beach, in the exact spot where I was one year ago, I am in disbelief that a full year has passed. 365 days have come and gone, and yet we are still engulfed in this hellish war. How is it that the dark cloud that hovered over us last October still casts its shadow? I hoped the days of wearing yellow pins and "bring them home" necklaces would be behind us. I thought people would finally believe Jewish women, but they haven’t. I thought the incessant need to combat misinformation against Israel on social media would have ended. I hoped we wouldn’t have to continue explaining antisemitism and protecting Jewish communities. Yet here we are. The Red Alert app still pings with sirens across Israel, and I continue checking in on my friends and family. The funerals haven’t stopped, and our soldiers are still not home. Precious hostages remain in captivity, and the world still struggles to recognize the difference between good and evil. Returning to Israel this time, I was apprehensive, unsure of what I would face. While this year has weighed so heavy on our hearts, I was entering the nucleus of affliction. Physically, I would be in a war zone. Emotionally, I was in a country experiencing the worst kinds of loss. And spiritually, the question of why we have been subjected to such a trial, and what it means, remains unanswered. But, as always, Israel and its brave citizens swiftly dispelled my doubts about our resiliency and where we are headed. Firstly, I visited the neurosurgery department at Sourasky Medical Center, where I had volunteered the year before. Rather than stressing about budget constraints and physician shortages, the head of the department greeted me with a smile, proudly announcing his new fundraising campaign. Instead of being weighed down by the hardships of the past year, he was inspired by the strength and resilience of his team, and aimed to make his department even better than before. I then traveled south, visiting the Nova festival site and surrounding kibbutzim. Being at the site of a massacre, and seeing the memorialized faces of each soul murdered on the ground I stood made me feel sick. Judaism says that each person is an entire universe, and nothing was more evident there. It is unfathomable that the world remains indifferent against such clear inhumanity. I then went to Kfar Aza, which left me speechless again. Homes were burned down, destroyed in the worst ways, with bullet holes covering every surface. Personal belongings remained untouched in a ghost town, screaming “Where are they now?” In Kibbutz Erez, where about 80% of its members have returned, we met a group of remarkable individuals whose courage, coordination, and determination saved their kibbutz on that terrible day. While they did not come out unscathed, they collaborated effectively to fight off the Hamas terrorists attempting to infiltrate the kibbutz. Their mission now? To continue to keep the south safe through new security measures, teach other kibbutzim how to protect themselves, and learn from their past. Their resilience is a beacon of strength and hope for the future. A man who ran the factory in Kfar Aza told a different tale, but mirrored the same attitude. His dreams for the kibbutz and Israel remained alive with positivity. He spoke with enthusiasm about unity, hard work, and faith. He believed deeply that change comes not just from above (he gestured to the heavens), but from each one of us on the ground (he gestured toward the group). His words inspired, but even more so when he revealed that on October 7 he lost his son in Kibbutz Be’eri. His son had moved there to care for a child with autism, and, tragically, they did not survive. Yet, even with the unbearable grief of losing his child, his spirit remained unshaken. I was struck by the desire to thrive that prevailed amid such darkness. This year, we are still haunted by that Black Sabbath and the relentless conflict that continues to ensue. We struggle to move forward, burdened by our own pain, and because we feel deeply the suffering of our Jewish brothers and sisters, who also remain in limbo. We think of the hostages suspended in uncertainty, their families, and their friends. We remember those we lost—some by committing acts of heroism, others simply by living. We stand with those whose lives have been uprooted, with no retained normalcy. And we give thanks to the brave soldiers and civilians, in Israel and around the world, who continue to fight and risk their safety to protect the Jewish nation. Yet, amid the turmoil, we commemorate this year, bringing in our Jewish new year. And with that, the reminder of renewed hope. A reminder to reflect and remember that we are here with a purpose. A reminder to bring more light into the world, even though it is easy to get lost in the darkness. With so much pain in our present and ambiguity in our future, Israel reminded me that we are a nation of hope, a hope of thousands of years. We must remind ourselves of our roots, our values, and challenge the negativity and pain that this year has brought with faith. While we don’t know exactly where we are going, we are a tribe that survives. We are Am Yisrael.
