On that fateful October 7th, a mother who was visiting town stopped me in prayer on Simchat Torah which almost never happens.
She nudged me and said, “Do you know there’s a war going on right now in Israel?”
I looked at her in shock and said, “War?”
That word was housed in luxury. To be detached and an Israeli.
“I’m an Israeli. I should know about these things.” I said.
“I know! That’s why I’m telling you.” Her face was full of urgency.
This was SOS for my heart. My Israeli heart.
The Tree of Life massacre was on Shabbat. In Pittsburgh. I left Israel for economic reasons and also because of terrorist attacks. Now here we were on October 7th.
I stayed glued to the prayer book but of course, there was no point in focusing.
And when we filed out to the succa for kiddush, the death toll started rising and rising.
It was about 12:30 pm EST when we sat down for kiddush and many people were already dead.
The mood in that succa was somber. I led the conversation about Israel’s security as if I were some top kind of security official.
As an American-Israeli, I get to emotionally navigate how I want to show up: as the former IDF warrior and lone soldier ambassador or the quiet American Jew.
The choice at that table was obvious.
When you live in two worlds, you don’t have the luxury of being detached anyhow.
***
Nightfall. Simchat Torah. Our Chabad of Squirrel Hillel scheduled Hakafot celebrations. I couldn’t dance. I couldn’t bring myself to eat but I forced myself. My former IDF warrior was on high-high alert. Now more details emerging. Young people. Many of them dying, dead, missing, maimed.
I will never ever forget the look of the five young Israeli men glued to their phones that day. They were waiting for a “tsav shmona” notice to fly back to Israel and serve in the reserves. One said he was waiting to hear from his commander and once he got the green light, we would be flying the next day back to the North. They knew more than all the Chabad together in terms of what was happening. I knew more at that point Later the videos with horrific images would prove the information they shared. Images that would take weeks to “unsee.”
For now, we would talk about the Israel Defense Forces, and what was happening in the South and the rest of Israel. We talked in Hebrew, the language of my heart.
You could see in their eyes their bravery and humanity. One commander, in particular, reminded me of the way he code-switched from English to Hebrew and vice versa so seamlessly.
I made comments and asked questions from my limited knowledge. I was still keeping the holiday, the Shabbat. In a few hours, I would be sucked into the news vortex like everyone else. The screen was like one big temptation. For now, I didn’t feel alone and isolated. At least I had these five interns who were on their way to Israel to serve in the IDF.
Once my Israeli heart gets fired up, I forget that I’ve been in Pittsburgh for the past 16 years. That the Atlantic Ocean is a barrier. That I have a kibbutz home in the North of Israel.
At some point, they moved away from the foyer to the entrance of the Chabad. It was starting to get cold and chilly and I was without a coat but I didn’t care. I couldn’t see myself going back inside despite the food, warmth, my family. They switched to English and back to Hebrew.
It was as if the simcha of that night dancing with the Torah didn’t matter anymore. All I wanted to do was turn into an Israeli news freak.
Everyone in the sanctuary was still oblivious – dancing with the Torah, eating. This angered and frustrated me.
They didn’t wait to join the Torah procession that was emerging from the Chabad to dance in the streets. It was obvious they had way too much on their minds. 
“Why all the simcha?” I asked one of the Chabad rabbis after they left. They knew there was a war happening. They knew people were dying, no?
“We need to banish the world with light. The more we dance, the stronger our light.”
Simple, no?
To this Israeli trapped in two worlds, the decision was made even more complex.
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