I’ve chanted Lamentations 1:16 in synagogue on the fast day of Tisha B’Av, and though the verse includes my name in biblical Hebrew, I’d struggled to connect with the dramatics which the prophet Jeremiah is believed to have penned.
“Upon these, I cry. My eye, my eye floods water, for any comfort (menachem) that might return my spirit is far from me. My sons are desolate, because the enemy has prevailed.”
That verse has returned to me often since Oct. 7, 2023, particularly as the second anniversary looms of the bloodiest day for Jews since the Holocaust.
I have often dealt with unpleasant subject matter as a journalist in the past 25 years. But having become the editor of the U.S. news section of a Jewish wire service in January 2023, I’ve seen and heard things since Oct. 7 for work that I never would have otherwise experienced.
I’ve never cried so much while trying to do my job as I have in the past 22 months.
Growing up going to Jewish day school, religious seminary in Israel and a Jewish university, I learned often about the Holocaust. I’ve visited dozens of Holocaust museums and memorials worldwide and read hundreds of books and articles and watched many films about the catastrophe for Jews called the Shoah in Hebrew.
But the Holocaust always felt like it was in black-and-white and in the past. Of course it needed to be studied and remembered regularly lest it be repeated, but it felt firmly in the past.
Seeing and hearing the glee with which the terrorists — who participated in the Hamas-led attacks on Oct. 7 — murdered, raped and tortured Jews, and the way that they live streamed their evil acts, often posting the feeds to social media accounts of the victims for their relatives to stumble upon, could only evoke the atrocities of the Nazis.
Many have said, and I think there’s truth to it, that the Nazis sought to hide their mass murder and showed some embarrassment about it. But Hamas and its followers proudly bragged about what they had done publicly. Far too many people rewarded that by marching and supporting Hamas in the months after the attack, even on streets of major U.S. and European cities.
Having to pause to hold back tears in the days and weeks after Oct. 7, 2023, as I edited articles about what had happened and its aftermath, and about the hostages who remain in horrible conditions in Gaza to this day, was a clear sign that this was an event of uniquely horrific proportions.
It has also been very difficult to work in Jewish journalism since Oct. 7.
I and the reporters who write for me have fielded frequent requests from sources to remain wholly anonymous or at least to withhold their last names. When we ask why, people almost invariably say that they are afraid to be named, because they fear for their physical safety as Jews.
We’ve also received requests from people named in stories years ago asking to have their names removed for their safety. I’ll set aside the complicated ethical question of what journalistic publications ought to do in this instance. What’s important is that many Jews fear to have their names appear in the paper, amid reportedly surging Jew-hatred both stateside and overseas.
In early August, cars were set ablaze near St. Louis in what federal authorities are probing as an antisemitic hate crime. The target appeared to be a U.S. citizen, who had served in the Israel Defense Forces. It seemed that the attacker might have been aware of the man’s prior service in the Israeli military.
On a recent reporting trip to Israel, during which I flew on a charter plane of Jews immigrating to the Holy Land, and doing so mid-war to boot, I learned that the nonprofit facilitating their immigrations (aliyah in Hebrew) no longer named nor promoted the young people who were bound for service in the Israeli military.
If those people were named or photographed, they would put themselves and their families back in the United States, or elsewhere, at risk when they returned to visit. In some countries, they risked being arrested and charged with being part of a military engaged in “genocide.”
In the year 2025, just 80 years after the Holocaust, it is crazy to think that Jews are hiding yarmulkes on their heads or Stars of David, and having to weigh whether to remain anonymous for their protection.
A saying, surely misattributed as a Chinese curse, says “may you live in interesting times.” It’s undoubtedly a very unique time to be in the business of documenting the news about Israel about Jewry stateside and worldwide.
As the second anniversary of Oct. 7 looms, one hopes and prays for the end of the war, the return of all the hostages from Gaza and, well, more boring times.