By Rabbi Mike Feuer
Two years later, Oct. 7 remains a raw day.
The murder of more than 1,200 people in shocking and horrific ways, and the kidnapping of 251 more, is not yet the past; it is still a present source of pain. War has claimed hundreds since that awful day, widening the circle of loss and narrowing the space in which healing can happen. There is a need to mourn and be comforted.
Two years later, Oct. 7 is also a day of awe. The collapse of conceptions, the structures of safety and control that held up our understanding of the world, is still beyond what we can grasp. The heroic face of Israel that has emerged is still becoming clear. It’s not yet a new world; we are in the chaos that precedes creation.
How do we hold the pain of loss together with the pride of a people awakened? How do we tell the story of such awful and awesome events?
It demands a heroic capacity. Jewish heroism is mesirut nefesh l’man tov, “going beyond the limits of self for the sake of creation’s good.” The soldiers fighting on the battlefield are giburim, “heroes” and “mighty warriors.”
To tell the story of Oct. 7 in a way that gives truth to the horror and honor to the sacrifices demands a different type of Jewish hero, the magid, the “storyteller.”
The storyteller wields the power of nechamah. Translated as “consolation” or even “regret,” nechamah really means to change perspective after the fact. Nechamah is the capacity to transform past suffering into a source of positive identity, to turn victims into survivors and a traumatized nation into a heroic people. And it all begins with how we tell the story.
Life happens to us all. Facing tragedy and pain, the victim avoids responsibility by abdicating power.
Who hasn’t thrown up their hands and taken strange comfort in the helpless cry: “What could I do?” In contrast, the hero stands square in the face of what comes and asks: “What can I do? How can this terrible situation make me more of the person I can become?”
Heroes gain agency by taking responsibility and engaging suffering as a source of growth.
Their vision of who they are striving to be and their willingness to ask life-giving questions transform the tragic into the heroic. That is what allows them to transcend limits in the service of the good that can come from even the most terrible situation.
Out of the ashes of Kibbutz Be’eri, Nahal Oz, Nir Oz and the Nova music festival, heroic stories have emerged, and even as the Jewish world mourns, we must honor them.
Grandfathers who died for their children, young women who fought alone like Samson to save their friends, lieutenants and major generals who raced toward danger without command. For two years, average citizens have made “going beyond” a way of life.
Officially, more than 50% of Israelis took part in some volunteer effort in the aftermath of Oct. 7, but that number is vastly under-representative.
It fails to capture the ongoing flood of home-cooked meals to front-line soldiers, the free mental-health services, the righteous who go from home to home ensuring that no mourner sits alone with their loss. Out of the darkness, a great light has been born. A heroic people have awakened.
It says in the book of Micah (7:8), “Rejoice not against me, my enemy; although I have fallen, I will rise; although I will sit in darkness, God is a light to me.”
At first glance, the prophet is warning our enemies to make no mistake, we may be down, but we are never out. Determination is an essential heroic quality, and Oct. 7 has proven to us and the world that Israel will not break.
If we look a little deeper at Micah’s words, we can see the secret to this power. His words can be read not just as “although I have fallen” but also “because I have fallen, I will rise … .”
Falling doesn’t keep us from victory, so long as we are determined, it is what gets us there. We are a people committed to light, which means that darkness is a call to heroism.
Failures are what summon up the heroic power of mesirut nefesh l’man tov, and our refusal to give up pushes us to go beyond the limits of self for the sake of good.
“Although I will sit in darkness, God is a light to me … ” can also be read as “because I sit in darkness … .” The sages say, “What good is a candle in the noonday sun?”
We cannot appreciate the power of a single flame when we encounter it in a world filled with light. It is only in the darkness that we discover its heroic capacity. So, too, in Israel today.
The darkness, pain and loss of Oct. 7 must be mourned. And the overwhelming light it has summoned up must be honored. Let us tell life-giving stories that heal our wounds and give glory to the people who have emerged through overcoming them.
Rabbi Mike Feuer is an educator, content creator and spiritual counselor who teaches and inspires around the world. His new Jewish Heroism Project harnesses the power of Torah and sacred imagination to empower Jews to build a stronger people and a better world.
