A Country’s Resilience, in the Face of Horror

Tel Aviv — Before their seven-year anniversary last year, a young couple who had been long-distance for almost their whole relationship decided to close the distance. In September, the woman, a twentysomething from London, moved to Israel, where the man, a young IDF soldier, waited. He died three weeks later fighting in Gaza. She’s now not sure what to do or where to go. London is no longer home, and Israel is the country where she lost everything. Maybe being surrounded by communal grief is somehow more comforting than the alternative — isolation. In this sense, she is not alone.

Israelis greet one another now with “How is your family?” Almost everyone has a loved one or a connection to someone serving in the Israel Defense Forces, and upon meeting someone, it makes sense to ask that question. The best lens through which to understand another Israeli seems to be one of grief and also sacrifice: how much you’ve lost to the war, or how much you might have at stake. There’s no right way to grieve, but self-help literature usually suggests that tragedy is personal, subjective, and isolating. Since Hamas slaughtered children, whole families, and innocent civilians on October 7, Israel’s grieving process has been healthily reliant on unity.

Crowds of young music lovers attended the Nova music festival on October 7, the now-infamous site of Hamas’s bloody assault. The Nova survivors from that horrific day are young people who, like normal hippie-centric ravers, use concerts as a way to promote peace. Many of them have taken to music again, to help their grieving process. They meet weekly as part of a survivors’ program; they take surfing lessons in Tel Aviv and attend DJ sets together. One survivor told me — though she was wracked by guilt to say it — that if there’s anything good to come out of October 7, it’s that strengthened sense of community.

Emily Hand was kidnapped from Kibbutz Be’eri the morning of October 7. Her case is now famous, thanks to her father, Tom, who immediately broadcast her story to any media outlet that would listen after the attack. At first, Tom thought that Hamas had killed Emily in the initial onslaught. Then he learned that she was alive, somewhere in Gaza. Eventually Emily was returned home, thanks in part to Tom’s intensive media campaign. But the Hands lost a lot — time, family, their home. Hamas murdered Emily’s mother on October 7, which Tom had to explain to Emily when Hamas finally let her go. And for the past five months, despite all that his family has been through, Tom has stayed in the spotlight to speak up for Hamas’s remaining hostages. That means that for the past five months he has had to relive the worst day of his life and the death of his daughter’s mother. When he speaks about that day, he still cries.

Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust memorial, is a harrowing reminder of Jewish resilience. The museum is set up in various stages of the World War II era: the rise of fascism, the ghettos, the concentration camps. At the end of the museum is a massive room full of files that contain the identification documents for the millions of Jews murdered in the Holocaust. In the middle of the room is a dome that houses photos of the Jews, the curly-haired toddlers, the eager and full-of-life young men, the elderly couples, who were senselessly killed. It’s difficult not to draw parallels to the photo memorials of October 7 victims that now line the walls of Ben Gurion Airport, the lampposts of Tel Aviv, and the streets of Kibbutz Kfar Aza in southern Gaza, where terrorists slaughtered dozens.

Kfar Aza is split up into sections. The southernmost section is where young adults stay — it is slightly separated from the rest of the kibbutz and occupies only a couple of blocks. Outside of every house are photos of the beautiful young people who were killed on October 7. Houses are still burned and blood-stained, with bullet holes from the attack. Of the 19 people Hamas abducted from Kfar Aza in October, five are still in captivity. Lifetime kibbutz resident Chen Kotler said that Israel shows visitors Kfar Aza to prove the horror of Hamas’s attack and to keep alive the memories and stories of their loved ones. She holds on to hope that the hostages will return.

How one responds during tragedy reveals one’s character. Israelis responded to this crisis so well because, sadly, the Jewish people have had to be resilient. Israeli parents and military personnel told me they hadn’t expected the country’s youngest generation to be so invigorated, for example. This is the first time kids in Israel’s TikTok generation have been forced to stand up for their country. And they have, because wound into the Israeli conscience and character is a great appreciation of life and country. Many Israelis have said they feel survivor’s guilt when naming anything good that might come out of October 7. But there’s no denying that the sense of unity is a profound good — the attack that tore apart so many families has brought together a country.

A woman who returned to the U.S. on the same flight as mine was greeted by three darling kids, rushing at her as she exited the airport. Witnessing Israel post–October 7 has made these simple moments of love seem even more meaningful. The Jewish people have risen to this moment because they love so forcefully and prioritize community so greatly that no act of terror could make them minimize the gift of life. The country passed an ultimate test in October, wrong as it may feel to say so. Israel proved itself a nation capable of cherishing life in all its joys, amid the tragedies.