Many Jews Are Dizzy, and I Think I Know Why

We need to be honest about the way many Jews are feeling these days. Let’s face it—most of us are basket cases. Our minds are overwhelmed. Our hearts are off kilter. Even our souls are depleted.

I felt it last Saturday night at a private event in Beverly Hills. For the first hour or two, it was classic Los Angeles schmoozing. There was that tingle you feel when you walk into a room and see lots of happy people. It boosts your mood. It makes you feel like jumping in.

Never mind that I was carrying a heavy heart from the news that 10 Israeli soldiers had just lost their lives in Gaza, bringing the casualty count to more than 305 since the start of the war.

But I couldn’t be a party pooper. There is something about a festive atmosphere, about seeing human beings reap the fruits of life by gathering in joy with others, that can capture even a solemn heart.

So I surrendered to the moment, got a drink and jumped into the happiness zone.

The fun did not last. It couldn’t.

You see, the purpose of the evening was to hear the testimony of two girls who survived the Oct. 7 massacre.

About 75 trendy looking grown-ups, many looking like they’re working on screenplays, took their seats under the stars in a spacious backyard with a shimmering blue pool in the background.

Over the next 90 minutes or so, we heard the girls tell their stories. The first one spoke for a good 40 minutes about what it was like to wake up on the darkest day of Israel’s history.

She spoke of her kibbutz on the Gaza border as a kind of paradise, with natural beauty and a communal spirit. When the sounds of sirens and rockets went off that morning, she assumed all they needed to do was head to a bomb shelter, as they’ve done so often.

Slowly, though, the sounds changed. Instead of distant rockets, it was the firing of machine guns; instead of a friendly neighbor’s voice, it was the voices of Hamas terrorists banging on doors.

I will spare you the agony of the stories we heard in minute detail, the savagery that left the happy people in that lovely backyard numb with…numb with what exactly? Shock? Grief? Rage? Unbearable sadness?

There’s no need to feel strange if we’re feeling like basket cases.

Since Oct. 7, we haven’t been the same. We may have some happy times, some creative and productive times, some spiritually elevating times, but somehow, at some point, and often when we least expect it, the tentacles of Oct. 7 reel us back in.

These tentacles are many.

Because the pain lingers in the interminable eight months since that day of horrors; because we pray daily for the hostages still languishing in Gaza hell; because more and more people are losing faith in Israel’s political leadership; because we fear we might be stuck in a war with no end and no victory; because the explosion of antisemitism that surrounds us has made mere safety our new priority; because the world has shown once again that it reserves a special place in purgatory for Jews who dare defend themselves; because Israel’s sworn enemies, backed by an emboldened Iran, are smelling Jewish blood; because refugees all over Israel still can’t go home; because people from both sides keep dying and hostage families keep crying; because Israeli soldiers and civilians have shown a courage and resiliency for the ages; because so many heroes in the Jewish world have stepped up to help their people in myriad ways; because of all of these conflicting thoughts and emotions and so many others that have risen from Oct. 7, we’re a mess.

How could we not be?

These conflicting ideas are swirling in my head right now, as I’m flying at night on an El Al non-stop to Tel Aviv. I know I will see lots of people on my trip, visit lots of places, drink too much coffee, have too many thoughts.

Israel has always been a place for too many thoughts. I had too many thoughts during the second intifada, too many thoughts during the summer of the Gaza disengagement and the summer of the tent protests. But here’s the thing. Even during the best of times, even while partying at 2am on a Tel Aviv beach or hiking in nature or dancing at the Wall, I had too many thoughts, even good ones.

Israel has a way of overwhelming those who feel close to it, those who have inhaled its miraculous breath. The country was born in drama and the drama has never let go. Sometimes, though, there’s just too much drama.

This is one of those times. I have too many thoughts, too many questions about a future I can barely see. I’m bracing myself.

Like many of you, I’m dizzy.