October 7, Again
"Sadly, it can always happen again. And if it does, I invite my Jewish brothers and sisters to see it coming, and join us here, in Israel, to rebuild the nation state of the Jewish people together."
By Joanna Landau
Tel Aviv
Growing up in Israel, from a young age you get used to marking Holocaust Memorial Day. I remember when I was a teenager, I’d commit to it fully – from participating in ceremonies at school, watching Holocaust movies and documentaries, really thinking about the six million who perished and bearing witness decades later so that we never forget.
Eventually, I think maybe a decade ago, in my early forties, I became less sensitive about it. It was too distant, the stories were different, as remaining survivors were children when they experienced the war, so it wasn’t the same as hearing from adults who were brave Partisans, or mothers who tried to save their children, or those who made it through the March of Death.
It was of course part of our national ethos, but it was something I read about in a book or experienced through Schindler’s List.
Today is October 7, 2025.
In the last week, without really realizing it, I began exposing myself to October 7, 2023-related content. To connect, to feel what none of us have had the time or inclination to process, as we’re busy surviving.
The first year’s memorial is a blur, but this year it’s starting to sink in.
I finally read Eli Sharabi’s book, Hostage, even though it’s been out for months.
I watched the first episode of the highly anticipated Red Alert drama series, now streaming on Paramount +, telling the story of some of the heroes from that fateful day, in a hyper-realistic way. The story unfolding felt reminiscent of those Holocaust movies I saw, but this time, it wasn’t 50-60-70 years ago; it was a couple of years ago. And it wasn’t in another country; it was in my backyard.
Last night I was watching the news, and I learned that some of the Beeri survivors launched an online platform where you can see all of their Whatsapp messages from 06:29 on October 7, so that we never forget what happened that day — minute by minute, message by message, emoji by emoji.
And that made me scroll backwards in my own Whatsapp groups, with my family, my friends, our local community, to October 6, 2023, and then start reading what happened from a “third party” perspective, two years later.
It was eerie. I was reminded of some of the emotions I had that day, and in the days, weeks and months after:
Worry. A lot of worry. And initially, fear. But then also jokes, pretty dark ones, as we Jews like to make when the going gets tough (and when it doesn’t). Frantic check-ins on where everyone was when there was a siren, and were they safe?
“I’m fine, I stopped the car and I’m lying on the road under a bridge”, I wrote.
“All good here, I’m in the shelter at work”, my husband writes.
“At the base, wrapping toffees for the troops and feeling useless”, my daughter, who was serving in the Air Force at the time as an events coordinator, shared.
And — when he wasn’t in Gaza or on the border getting ready to go back in — my son would text, “I’m with Shay [his girlfriend then - JL] in the safe room, we’re fine”. And when he was in Gaza, silence of course.
Relief. “He just called me, he’s really tired and saving battery on his phone, but wanted me to tell you all that he loves you”, Shay would update us whenever he would call her. How much we appreciated those calls.
Anger. Apparently, I was also angry on that day, or immediately afterwards. I wrote to my mother, who had made the choice for us (with my father) to make Aliyah from England when I was a little girl; a choice I fully committed to eventually.
But on October 8, 2023, I was angry. Livid, as can be seen from this exchange with her.
It’s been two years since the worst attack on Jews in one day since the Holocaust — that Holocaust I had become numb to — took place. Six million is an incomprehensible number. The bigger the number, the more difficult it is to think of each person as an individual.
Today, it’s different:
There are still 48 hostages, dead and alive, waiting to be saved.
1,152 soldiers and security force personnel have died since the war broke out.
Out of the 978 civilians killed in the last two years from war-related events, 62 were children.
6,500 families have joined the “Bereaved Families” club that no one wants to be a part of, including approximately 2,000 parents who’ve lost children and 1,000 children who’ve lost parents.
Over a billion shekels have been paid out to people affected by the war; and
637,000 people have reached out to the national emotional health first aid services organization.
I’m not sure what to say about these numbers, how to feel, or where to place my anger, which lingers. It’s not six million, not even close. That should make us feel better, maybe, but ironically, it hits harder, especially today.
At a few minutes before 10am this morning, someone in our community Whatsapp group wrote:
“At 10 o’clock, there will be a minute’s silence in memory of October 7. It’s an unofficial initiative; there won’t be a siren. Just give a minute of your time, as if you’re hearing a siren.”
And someone else replies a couple of minutes later:
“We just stopped for that minute’s silence to remember October 7. Because we stopped, others stopped their cars too, and we all just stood, quietly.”
I think that’s the answer to the angry question I posed to my mother: Why are we living in this godforsaken place?
Today I know it’s because I’m part of this great nation and enjoyed a good portion of my life because it was built by people who had been through the unimaginable and didn’t allow fear, anger, disillusionment, internal strife or endless worrying to define them and extinguish hope.
I realize now that it’s on us now to do that again. To rebuild, again. I have no illusion that it’s going to get better soon. It may well get worse. The world could turn on us fully, I won’t be surprised if it does. And if it does, I invite my Jewish brothers and sisters to see it coming, and join us here, in Israel, to rebuild the nation state of the Jewish people together.
Because the official numbers I listed above are nothing compared to what it was like right after the Holocaust. The people who built the modern state of Israel were shattered, broken, exhausted, destitute — whether because they had fled from persecution and were toughing it out in swamps and tents, or they just arrived, having experienced a Holocaust.
They built a truly great country — we mustn’t allow ourselves to forget that, even if it had a lot to improve on. So, in honor of the six million, and those we loved and lost on October 7 and long before, today I pledge to do what I can to actively take part in writing the next chapter of Israel’s story in whatever way I can. That’s my choice and I will choose it anew every year, especially on October 7. If you read Eli Sharabi’s book, you’ll see why there’s always a choice. Take it from a man who has seen the depths of despair — and chose life.
JOANNA LANDAU is a global branding expert and coauthor of the international bestseller Ethical Tribing: Connecting the Next Generation to Israel in the Digital Era.
From unpacking history and politics to navigating the nuances of family and personal relationships to finding the human angle on sports and entertainment — plus our unsparing take on what’s happening in the Jewish world — the canvas at JEWDICIOUS is limitless! JOIN US!!
Well written
Keep safe and strong All
Am Yisrael Chai 🇮🇱
Obviously we all must be ready for another attack on Jews! Yes I believe we may. Scone Israeli citizens if this continues! Our world has lost its way! Am Yisrael Chai