Oh, How Naive I Was
On being Jewish now: one year later.
I have been given the honor of having this personal essay published as part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates.
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When I was a junior in high school, I wrote my term paper on the Holocaust. I read Leon Uris, Elie Wiesel and Kurt Vonnegut. I became consumed with learning the complete history of antisemitism: the expulsion of the Jews from Jerusalem after the destruction of the Second Temple, the Blood Libel, expulsions and pogroms for centuries, all of which culminated with the Holocaust.
I distinctly remember feeling blessed that I was living in a time and place where I was completely shielded from such hatred and danger. This was Los Angeles in the ‘80s, where almost everyone I knew was Jewish, most of my Hebrew school teachers were survivors, public schools were closed on the High Holidays, and we frequented the newly erected and prestigious Simon Wiesenthal Center. Looking back, it was an idyllic time and place for Jews. But oh, how naive I was.
I traveled to Israel often and fell in love with the Land, her people, music and culture... and eventually a sabra, for whom I almost made Aliyah in my 20’s. I was, and still am, an ardent Zionist. Like with my deep dive into antisemitism in high school, I studied the history of Zionism at the University of Pennsylvania and was completely enraptured by our triumph in founding, settling and defending the State of Israel on the heels of the Holocaust.
Israel was the hard-won victory after eons of discrimination and persecution. I used to tell my parents that if I were alive in the 1940s, I would have forsaken my comfortable American life, just like Golda Meir did, to be a pioneer in the establishment of Israel. I yearned to be a part of that miracle in history.
To me, being Jewish was the same thing as being a Zionist. Both were the very core of my identity. I knew Israel to be a beacon for all Jews, her mighty military a source of pride. Just by virtue of her existence, all Jews would be safe wherever we lived in the world. Oh, how naive I was.
On October 7th, and then on the 8th and the 9th and every single day since, my world views were shattered. How had I allowed myself to become so sheltered and complacent, believing that nothing bad could ever happen to us again? Of course, I knew Israel was always fighting her enemies, constantly in a state of war with her neighbors. But we were safe; Israel’s future, her existence, was never in question. I ignored the warnings about antisemitism raging on college campuses even though my own kids were in college at the time. They were safe after all; it must be just an exaggeration. Even in Israel, I’d heard of the civil unrest, the protests against Netanyahu’s government. Israelis seemed to be having the same troubles we were having here. Nothing really to worry about; it was just politics. Oh, how naive I was.
Being a Jew today is so much different than it was last year on this fateful date, October 6th. Not only have I borne witness to atrocities beyond my wildest imagination perpetrated against my own “family,” but I have watched the world turn its back on me. For Jews to be denied Red Cross assistance, UN resolutions and condemnations against terrorist regimes who seek our destruction, protests on our behalf, the universal demand that our hostages be returned, and outrage over the unspeakable violence against young and vibrant women who, if I’d made a different decision 32 years ago, could’ve been my own daughters. It’s an upside-down world for us Jews. But I’m naive no longer.
Where I was complacent, I will now be vigilant and vocal in my support for Israel. Where I was quiet, I will now be outspoken against untruths uttered against us. Where I was spoon-fed the news that was broadcast, I now question and challenge what the media is dishing out. Where I always advised against confrontation, I now encourage my kids who are young adults to stand up in their own defense.
This is what it is to be a Jew today. We are strong. We are vocal. We are unified.
Israel will remain our beacon forever.