I don’t know about you - but lately my soul has felt broken.

The world that I thought I knew - has changed underneath my feet.

On the morning of October 7, before 7am Eastern standard time, on the Jewish Shabbat and the Holy day of Simchat Torah, my Israeli daughter, Inbar called me from Israel, and told me the world was on fire. Literally. Our family was being attacked, butchered, people we knew and loved, were hiding from monsters in their so-called safe rooms, safe from bombs - but not safe from murderers. Their lives, our lives would never be the same. People we knew and loved fought bravely and died protecting their homes. People we knew and loved might never be able to go home again. People we knew and loved would need our support in ways we would have to create anew.

I was terrified. I felt like a time machine had pulled us back centuries. I felt swindled by hope. Who was I to believe I was exempt from history? The more we learned the deeper my despair. The hostages. The babies. The women. Girls my daughters ages raped and murdered. My friend’s daughter, murdered. My daughter’s friend, kidnapped. 240 kidnapped.

And then came the wave of hate. Unleashed Jew hate like we have never seen in generations. Hate that has been incubating in our academic corridors erupted on college campuses and on streets around the world. Shocking hate. So much hate that my Israeli friends are reaching out to me and asking me - am I ok? Are any of us ok?

Yesterday, I marched on Washington. I joined throngs of Jews and supporters of Jews. I heard speeches from congresspeople who affirm that antisemitism has no home in the United States, and will find no hospitality here. I truly hope that is true. I want to believe it. When my teacher, the US special envoy to monitor and fight antisemitism, Deborah Lispstadt quoted George Washington who said this nation gives “to bigotry no sanction to persecution no assistance”  I felt supported. I felt connected. I felt American and patriotic. I felt hopeful as I shared my despair with hundreds of thousands of others.  Looking in the eyes of people I didn’t know, I saw shared experience. I was surrounded by love not hate. We sang together with the singer Matisyahu, ”All my life I’ve been waiting for, I’ve been praying for, the people to say, that we don’t want to fight no more, there’ll be no more wars, and our children will play. One day. One day. One day.”

I remain hopeful. And pragmatic at the same time. We need to work for that One Day. We need to look each other in the eyes. We need to see each other. It is not time to run away, it is time to face each other. And facing each other can be terrifying. Time is of the essence. We need to bring our hostages home. Every one of them. Each of them is a whole world. Each of them is created “betzelem Elokim”, in the image of God.  Let us all pray for their safe return.  Now. This is what we do. Just ask Natan Sharansky, we can bring down walls.