More than two years have passed since October 7, 2023, and I still feel as though the world split in two on that day. It marked a before and after in my life, all the more so because I split my time between Jerusalem and Montreal.
At first, like so many others, I was in shock. But shock does not last. For me, it gave way to a constant state of alertness, grief, and uncertainty. I kept reading, watching, and listening, trying to understand what was happening as events unfolded, while realizing that the assumptions I had once lived with no longer held.
By nature, I am not quick to draw conclusions. I take time to observe, absorb what I am seeing, and sit with it before I speak. In some ways, that has helped me over the past two years. It has kept me grounded while everything felt unsteady and prevented me from being swept away, no matter how intense the emotions were.
Like many who care about Israel, I found that what I had been working on before October 7 was pushed aside. My attention shifted. I began following the news constantly on television, radio, social media, WhatsApp groups, and online platforms I had barely noticed before. I wanted to know what was happening, what was true, and what was being hidden or distorted.
The Story and How It Was Told
Over time, I began noticing something that disturbed me almost as much as the events themselves: the way the story was being framed.
I became much more aware of how Western media coverage is shaped not only by facts, but also by assumptions, language, ideology, and by what is emphasized and what is left out. Journalists often talk about balance, but I do not think most of us fully realize how much bias can shape reporting, sometimes subtly and sometimes quite openly.
I found myself asking different questions than I might have before: not just “What happened?” but also “Who is telling this story?” “What words keep getting repeated?” “What context is missing?” and “Whose voices are being included, and whose are being left out?”
Those questions matter because they shape how people understand the world.
Francisco Gil-White, a scholar I have quoted before, argues that much of what people think is true comes from the media. I think he is right. If what you are being shown is distorted, your judgment will be distorted too.
History gives us a terrible example of this. Nazi Germany did not rely only on violence. It relied on propaganda, repeated so often and so forcefully that lies came to feel like common sense.
Der Stürmer, one of the Nazi papers, portrayed Jews as greedy, corrupt, and dangerous. It was Hitler’s favourite paper. It did not merely reflect hatred. It fed it, organized it, and gave it legitimacy. Its editor, Julius Streicher, was later convicted at Nuremberg for crimes against humanity, and rightly so. Words matter. Repeated lies are never “just words.” As Proverbs 18:21 notes, “Life and death are in the power of the tongue.”
That truth feels painfully relevant now.
What shocked me after October 7 was how quickly people began minimizing it. Before the dead were even buried, and before anyone fully knew what had happened to the hostages, some were already explaining it away. In other places, people openly celebrated. And in some circles, the massacre was discussed in such detached terms that its human horror seemed to disappear. To them, Jewish life had no inherent value. Quite the opposite.
I do not think I will ever get over that.
I saw this developing on social media, in public demonstrations, and often in mainstream reporting too. Hostage posters were torn down. Jewish students were made to feel unsafe. Rallies erupted in cities around the world, often with little concern for what Israeli families had just endured. In some cases, slogans crossed the line from political protest into open hatred and violence. In others, the hatred was less obvious, but it was there all the same.
When I was in Montreal, I listened to CBC Radio One a lot, and I often came away frustrated. Not every report was unfair, but much of the coverage felt one-sided. The Israeli side was often pushed into the background, and Jewish fears did not seem to carry much weight. Some claims were repeated without enough scrutiny, while Israeli sources and mainstream Jewish voices were not heard nearly enough or were dismissed too quickly.
This reality is central to my experience: not only have I witnessed war while living in Israel, but I have also confronted the unsettling realization that truth itself can be shaped, bent, or lost in times of crisis beyond Israel. That realization lies at the heart of what these last two years have meant for me.
Solidarity with Israel: What Broke and What Held
Before October 7, many Israelis and most Jews believed that Israel’s defences were strong enough to prevent an attack on that scale. That belief collapsed in a matter of hours.
The border was breached. Families were murdered in their homes. People were burned, tortured, kidnapped, and left helpless for hours. For Israelis, this was not just a military failure. It shattered the sense of security that the army and the government could protect them.
Yet something else emerged alongside that loss.
I was in Israel on October 7, and what I saw in the days that followed is something I will never forget. Citizens mobilized immediately. People opened their homes. Volunteers appeared everywhere. Families sent sons, daughters, husbands, and wives into reserve duty. Almost right away, people began sending food, clothing, supplies, money, and whatever else was needed. Ordinary citizens stepped in before official systems were fully operational.
That response stayed with me. It reminded me that while Israel can be deeply wounded, it is not easily broken.
Many Jewish communities outside Israel also rose to the occasion, including those in Montreal. They mobilized quickly through rallies, vigils, fundraising, gatherings, prayer, and conversation. There was fear, but there was also determination: to stand with Israel, with the hostages, and with one another.
That solidarity did not remain abstract for me. Later, I joined the Montreal Federation Mission of Support and Witness to Israel. That experience made everything feel more real, even though I was still far removed from the horrors endured in the kibbutzim, the towns, and at the Nova Music Festival.
Kibbutz Nir Oz had been a peaceful community, and now it stood in ruins. In Sderot, seeing the footage and hearing firsthand accounts made the terror of that morning feel immediate in a way headlines never could. At the Nova site, the scale of loss came into focus not through numbers, but through the individual photographs of those murdered there, mounted on rows and rows of wooden posts, and through the silence in the middle of that rolling green space under the open sky.
But we also saw something else: mayors trying to care for displaced residents, hospitals adapting under wartime pressure, universities developing practical tools to respond to trauma and dislocation, volunteer centres operating at full speed, and farms relying on volunteers because so many regular workers were gone. Again and again, what stood out was not only suffering, but the determination to keep going.
That determination, along with the ongoing struggle to understand and uphold the truth, remains one of the central truths I hold onto. Israel is not only a country at war. It is also a society in which people show up for one another with resilience and solidarity, even in the hardest moments.
Bring Them Home Posters and Signs: The Names We Carried
The hostage crisis weighed heavily on Jewish communities for a long time. Their faces were everywhere. Their names were spoken in synagogues, at rallies, around dinner tables, and in private prayers. Families travelled across countries and continents, pleading for attention and action. In Montreal, regular weekly public marches and gatherings helped ensure they were not forgotten.
As time went on, the reality changed. Some hostages came home alive while others did not. Some families were reunited; others endured unbearable loss. Even as the details changed, the anguish remained. The hostage crisis became a shared wound, not just a political issue.
But the hostage crisis was never the only source of grief. Alongside it was the grief of war itself: soldiers being killed, civilians traumatized, families uprooted, and children carrying far more than they should. The losses keep coming, and even when the news moves on, the pain does not.
What Has Kept Me Going
More than anything else, it has been my Jewish identity that has kept me going through all of this.
I do not mean that in a vague or superficial way. I mean that Jewish memory, Jewish practice, Jewish community, and Jewish faith have helped keep me steady at a time when so much has felt shaken. When this crisis began, our rabbis urged us to strengthen Jewish life through prayer, psalms, mitzvot, and acts of loving-kindness. That was wise advice. In times like these, action matters, ritual matters, and community matters. They help keep despair from taking over.
I also keep thinking back to a trip I took just before October 7 with my Montreal synagogue congregation and Rabbi Poupko to Poland. We visited major Jewish historical sites, the concentration camps, and other places marked by horror. Rabbi Poupko and our guide, Tzvi Sperber, helped us understand not only the destruction, but also the richness of Jewish life that had existed there for a thousand years before the Nazis destroyed so much of it.
That memory has become even more important to me since October 7. Jewish history is full of horror, but also of survival, rebuilding, and the determination to go on. Our shared story is proof that communities can endure even in the face of distortion and adversity.
That knowledge has given me strength.
Still Living in the Aftermath
As I write this in spring 2026, I do not feel that the events of October 7, 2023, are behind us. Its consequences are still unfolding. The region remains unstable. The arguments continue. The grief remains. And the old confidence is gone.
But something else remains, too: solidarity, courage, and the refusal to surrender our humanity.
The world before October 7 is gone for me. I see things now that I did not fully see before. I understand more clearly how fragile safety can be, how quickly antisemitism can rise to the surface, how easily truth can be twisted, and how important it is not to lose your balance.
And yet I also see more clearly the strength of ordinary people, the depth of Jewish resilience, and the enduring power of belonging to a people who refuse to disappear.
That is where I find myself now: saddened, changed, more alert than before, but still standing. Still believing, despite everything, that we do not give up on one another.
Am Yisrael Chai. The Jewish people live.
Sources and References
Der Stürmer, Nazi weekly paper vilifying Jews, USHM United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Holocaust Encyclopedia
encyclopedia.ushmm.org/tags/en/tag/der-sturmer
Julius Streicher, editor of Der Stürmer, USHM United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Holocaust Encyclopedia
encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/julius-streicher-biography
NGO Monitor, founded in 2002, is a globally recognized research institute that analyzes NGOs for whether they promote democratic values and good governance, a project of The Institute for NGO Research, a recognized organization in Special Consultative Status with the UN Economic and Social Council since 2013
ngo-monitor.org
HonestReporting, an NGO that monitors the media for biased reporting about Israel
honestreporting.com
MEMRI, an NGO that monitors Arab-language media, which is often very different from Arab English-language media such as Al Jazeera
www.memri.org
On CBC coverage and media framing
honestreporting.ca/petitions/cbc-news-report-repeats-unrwa-hamas-casualty-data-as-facts-not-as-wartime-propaganda
honestreporting.ca/petitions/cbc-news-article-downplays-israeli-aid-into-gaza-exclusively-quoting-anti-israel-voices
Washington rally video
www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUjClJAZVW0
IDF memorial page for fallen soldiers
www.idf.il