I have been asked to write here but I don't know what to say. How do I feel?
I'm scared…
I'm proud….
I'm nervous…
I'm happy…
I'm sad….
I'm angry…..
I'm hopeful….
I am scared that the world doesn't understand the true evil we are battling. I am scared for Jews around the world who have also become targets of unfounded hatred. I am scared that we work day after day at Yad Vashem to educate about the dangers of hate, and it seems that our efforts amount to too little. It is scary to hear rocket sirens. It is scary to drive south to visit my soldier son. It is scary to think we are getting used to this.
I am proud, first and foremost of all the soldiers – my son among them. My pride in Israel swelled as planeload after planeload of Israelis landed, filled with men and women desperate to get to their units and protect our home. I am proud of my other children who send messages of support to their brother and do what they can to help the country. I am proud of Yad Vashem for opening our classrooms to 300 displaced children so they can at least "go to school" and have a "semblance" of normal.
I am nervous because I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I try to be optimistic, but in all honesty, I am nervous. I am nervous every day that my soldier son isn't able to call home and tell me he's OK. I am nervous for Jews around the world who are suffering a wave of antisemitism that we hoped was a relic of the past. I am nervous that the scars, physical and emotional, will take so very long to heal.
But I am also happy. I am happy that this week we finally welcomed some of the hostages home. I am happy that the country has become unified. I am happy that couples continue to marry and babies continue to be born. We are a living people, always valuing life and love. I am happy that Jews in the Diaspora feel a kinship with us.
I am sad for all the loss. The loss of life, the loss of home, the loss of normality, the loss of routine, the loss of peace of mind. I am sad for friends who have lost loved-ones. There is not a single person in the country who is more than one step removed from a victim of this murderous event. Here at Yad Vashem, in addition to two school employees being held hostage in Gaza and the son of the former school director who was murdered on his base, we can all give the names of friends, or children of friends, who have been buried in the past weeks. There is a melancholy that hangs over me, and everyone I meet.
I'm angry that the current ceasefire jeopardizes the lives of our soldiers. I am angry that the world is blind to the suffering that we are enduring in Israel. I am angry that there are still hostages in Gaza. This is not a one-sided fight. On October 7 we were violated, murdered, attacked, kidnapped and worse. (Believe me on that because I won't go in to the most disturbing details here.) In response we declared war against Hamas, and since then it seems that the world has forgotten that we did NOT start any of this. I am angry that more graduates of our programs don't speak out in our defense…but I am furious when they speak out against Israel.
I am hopeful that normal life with resume soon. I am hopeful that the loss we have suffered will at least bring a better tomorrow for our home and our region. I am hopeful that all the casualties of this war, physical and mental, will heal completely. I am hopeful that tomorrow I will wake to peace.1
In the video, Israelis sing the national anthem Hatikvah (“The Hope”) during a demonstration for the liberation of the hostages. Credit: Dorit Raviv.