The October 8th Jew
Living in a changed world
This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.
Sometimes, I think I will always miss the person I was on October 6, 2023. The person who went to sleep in a world that was safe. A world in which You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah was one of Netflix’s top films, and the Jewish second gentleman had just hosted a Rosh Hashanah party. I wasn’t naive: I had even written a book on contemporary antisemitism and its impact on Jewish Gen Z-ers. But the prejudice I’d considered was mainly limited to the realms of rhetoric and celebrity—Kyrie Irving’s social media, Kanye West’s conspiracy theories. I argued that we were in a moment of Jewish strength, and should not succumb to fear-mongering. Never in my darkest nightmare did I think that if my son were ripped from my arms, the world wouldn’t care.
We woke up that Saturday to just a few fuzzy details. Southern Israel was under attack. Hamas terrorists had infiltrated the kibbutzim along the border with the Gaza Strip. A few people were dead. Then hundreds.
The first post that left me speechless: Yoni Asher, turning to Facebook to announce that his wife and children had been kidnapped. Begging readers to contact the army and the media.
“Did you hear?” my husband gasped. “A family of five was burned alive.”
“Did you see? There’s a woman being held hostage in her home, and she’s baking cookies for the terrorists.”
“Did you know? They took a grandma into Gaza in a golf cart.”
October 7 shattered the looking glass. That morning, we saw things that human beings were never meant to see. We witnessed bloodshed and sexual violence and utter depravity. And by the evening of October 8, we were reeling from another shock. We were seeing people’s immense capacity to dehumanize Jews— to the point of blaming the still-bleeding victims.
I miss the time when the darkest questions were theoretical. When chats with my Jewish mom friends were about sleep deprivation, not about the primordial scream constantly threatening to come out. I miss walking down the street in my Magen David necklace and not feeling like this constituted an act of bravery. I miss the innocence of October 6 and I miss the hope of October 7, when—amidst the horror—I expected that solidarity would come. That the global outcry was on its way. How wrong I was. How I underestimated the mental gymnastics people will perform in order to maintain their own worldview.
Now, we find ourselves living in a time of Jewish vulnerability. I am more determined than ever to instill Jewish pride in my son, and I dread the day when I’ll have to look at his innocent face and tell him the truth: that when Jewish baby boys are torn from their cribs, people celebrate. My whole life will be dedicated to his Jewish joy, but it may not be enough.
We’re in a liminal time. The innocence of October 6 is gone. So is the rawness of October 7. But the next day has not arrived: there are still hostages in Gaza, and so we cannot join the world of tomorrow. Instead, we occupy the lonely in-between. We go through the motions of normalcy, interspersed with moments of clarity: everyone else in the grocery store is having a regular day. They’re not haunted by the ghosts of missing babies, raped girls, beloved elders living out their last days in darkness.
I don’t know if I’ll like being an October 8 Jew. I don’t know what raising an October 8 child will mean. But I know—just as I know that I escaped Egypt and stood at Sinai and danced at the birth of the state of Israel—that there is another chapter of Jewish thriving to be written.
Dr. Samantha Vinokor-Meinrath is a lifelong Jewish educator and learner. She currently serves as the Senior Director of Knowledge, Ideas, and Learning at The Jewish Education Project and is the author of #antisemitism: Coming of Age During the Resurgence of Hate, a finalist for the 2022 National Jewish Book Award in the category of Education + Jewish Identity." A sought-after expert and thought leader on Jewish identity, Samantha lives in Westchester with her husband, son, and two beloved rescue dogs. She is currently at work on her next book.
Instagram: @sam_vinokor
This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.
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Thank you for writing this. Brilliant writing.