I write these thoughts almost to the hour when the barbaric Hamas massacre started in Israel on October 7, 2023.
It was an atrocity that left us in a state of shock, which was compounded by a tsunami of antisemitism from every crevice of society. The blood was not yet dry in the killing field of a peace concert. The cruelty, torture, gang rapes, screams of the victims and hostages still lingered in the air when Hamas promised to repeat their barbarism “again and again and again.” In a perverse turn of immorality, tens of thousands around the world rallied to the cause of the perpetrators, not the victims.
It was the worst attack on Jews since the Holocaust, and for me, the daughter of two Holocaust survivors, it brought back generational nightmares, the most painful of which is the abandonment of the world.
During their years in concentration camp, my parents would find strength in the most brutal of times by thinking, “When the civilized world finds out what is happening to us, good people will break down the doors of governments, they will take to the streets, and life will not be normal until we are rescued.”
After liberation, they learned the harsh reality that the world had known and had chosen to do nothing.
Jews today are relearning that lesson of what it means to be alone in the world, and now, in the aftermath of October 7, we feel the same aloneness that my parents and other survivors must have felt when the world turned a blind eye while the Nazis murdered their fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and six million other Jews.
Jews and Israel know about being alone from the abandonment of much of the world beginning only a day after the massacre. Cities around the world, including the U.S., witnessed massive rallies in support of Hamas and cheered its goal of eliminating Israel “From the River to the Sea.” Many Jewish students had to run a gauntlet of Jew hatred encampments and huddle in fear as their fellow students and professors spouted hatred of Israel and Jews. Their administrators too often were dismissive.
Jewish feminists like me discovered a new aloneness when the “Me Too” movement was unconcerned about the rape and violence perpetrated against Israeli women. Jewish clergy have found an unexpected aloneness in the silence of non-Jewish clergy, who fear that even a note of sympathy may be deemed “political.”
In the face of genocidal enemies and the abandonment of those we thought to be friends, how can we hold on to hope? How do we not succumb to despair?
In part, we draw our strength from ancient traditions. Last Passover, in addition to the usual rituals and prayers, many of us set the table with an empty chair for one of the over 200 hostages. Last year when we read the Passover Haggadah, or prayer service, and recited the lines that Jews have recited for the last 2,000 years — “For not only one (enemy) has risen up against us to destroy us, but in every generation, they rise up to destroy us” — we experienced those words in our hearts and reflected upon how we rose up again.
Israel showed us the path against despair. The Israelis rushed to each other’s aid in circumstances when even a slight movement could mean death. While they were clearing the carnage of the Nova Music Festival, where young people came to dance for peace, but were slaughtered by enemies who hate peace almost as much as they hate Jews, Israelis vowed, “We will dance again!”
There is a reason Israel’s national anthem is Hatikvah, “The Hope,” because that hope of rising again will never be trampled.
It is the haunting image of prophet Ezekiel (37:1-14) as he describes the Valley of Dry Bones. “Son of man, these bones are the people of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off.’ … My people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them; I will bring you back to the land of Israel. … I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it, declares the Lord.’”
We will believe and rise again and again.
Another defense against despair is one I learned from my mother — who, despite all she endured, sought the goodness in people and found it. It may not always come from the most expected sources, but we need to be grateful to, and laud, those who stand with us.
In my case, it is the dozens of Hindu American organizations and leaders who reached out to me on October 7, who demonstrated with us for the release of hostages, and who expressed their solidarity with the Jewish people on this anniversary of October 7.
Here are a few of the beautiful messages of friendship and compassion from Hindu American leaders:
Michigan State Senator Niraj Antani texted me a heartfelt wish for the year 5785 (Jewish calendar) to be better than 5784.
“Please feel free to share and express our solidarity with the victims and their loved ones. The devastating attack on October 7, 2023, continues to affect the lives of innocent people. Let us pray for peace, the safe release of hostages, and strength for their families.”- Rakesh Malhotra, Federation of Indian Associations
“Shalom and best wishes for the new year to our Jewish friends around the world. Hindu and Jews come from the most ancient civilizations, with ties to the holy places, soil, waters, and mountains of India and Israel. These are lands that people came to conquer but where we welcomed and continue to welcome others. Today, we stand in solidarity with the hostages, with Jewish people, and with the nation of Israel as it faces terrorists and Iran’s radical regime. With the dismay of the current situation, we know there is hope, and that the Jewish civilization will continue strong as it has. We hope that this Rosh Hashanah can still have moments to cherish, and that this year brings better memories for our people, for all people, and for the planet.”-Mihir Meghani, Hindu American Foundation
“I want you to know that the Hindus have not overlooked the biggest attack on Jews, since the Holocaust. What else did we take note of -the growing support of extremist ideologies at our college campuses that fuel hatred against both our communities. There is much we must do together – and a lot we have already begun. For years, Hindus and Jews have stood as friends. We’ve celebrated Diwali and Hanukkah together, sharing in each other’s joys. We’ve sung, danced, and supported each other through difficult times. But now, our partnership is evolving – we are not just celebrating together; we are actively working together to fight prejudice, combat hatred, and stand strong against terror in our country.
Friends, we are resilient people, and this year, we will once again sing, dance, and light up the world with our Diwali lamps and Menorahs. But just as important, we will continue to sit together – not only to break bread, but to educate others about who we are, where we come from, and the bright future we envision for all.” -Rajeev Singh, student leader at Stanford and representative of the Hindu American Foundation (HAF).
Their messages raised my spirits and connected me once again to the Jewish journey towards hope.
Peggy Shapiro is the daughter of Holocaust survivors and the Director of Policy and Outreach at StandWithUs.
