My children now know there are people who hate Jews

Since October 7, my parents-in-law have been displaced from their family home of 40 years. My husband will never see his childhood home again.  My nieces and nephew in Israel have spent nights sleeping in shelters. Their formative years are marred forever.

Since October 7, I hesitate when someone asks me where I’m from. I search their face for clues and answer with bated breath. Sometimes I just lie.

Now, my children cannot wear sweaters with Hebrew letters in public. They demanded an explanation so now they know there are people in the world who hate Jews. They didn’t know that before.

Since October 7,  I have lost friends who refused to engage in nuanced conversation. Friends who drank the kool-aid and found a place to direct their purposelessness, or their dormant biases. I’ll never go to another high school reunion.

Since October 7, I have felt unsafe in spaces where I once belonged and advocated for- spheres of the arts, the environment, feminism and queerness… I identify as politically homeless.

Since October 7, I’ve felt a collective grief and fear and rage that has been comparable only to the death of my father.

My chest involuntarily tightens when I see an image of a harmless watermelon.

Despair is common. I fear for my children’s safety as Jews in this world, yet I also deeply need for them to know and honour their Jewish identity. It’s never been more important, because life will never be the same again.