EREV YOM KIPPUR — Dr. Guila Benchimol
“An Open Letter to the Survivors of Oct. 7”
Yom Kippur is the day of the Atonement where we reflect on where we have failed over the previous year and engage in repentance. The Talmud (Yoma 85b:7) teaches that Yom Kippur atones for sins committed between people and God, but “not for transgressions between a person and another.” It is therefore customary to prepare for Yom Kippur by repenting from the harm we have caused to others and asking for their forgiveness. An element of repentance includes apologizing and naming the harm committed.
But what about those who have been egregiously harmed and violated who will never get the acknowledgement they rightfully deserve? What about those who are blamed for their own victimization? What words of comfort can we offer them?
In this “Letter to Survivors”, I turn to the victims and survivors of Oct 7, as well as their families and loved ones, to simply say, “I am sorry. I see you. I hear you. And I am thinking of you.” It is not the ‘sorry’ of having done something wrong or personally inflicted harm, but the wish that things were not this way. A way to say ‘You are not alone.”
Who in our lives needs to hear an “I’m sorry?” As we walk into Yom Kippur, who needs our acknowledgement and to know that we see them and their pain?
This letter was originally published in Jewish News Syndicate on December 14, 2023.
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An open letter to the survivors of Oct. 7
Maybe you don’t need to hear this, but it must be said to counter the voices arguing otherwise: You did not deserve this.
To the women, children and men who survived the Hamas terrorist attack on Oct. 7 in Israel:
You are not alone.
We see you. We hear you. We are crying with you.
And I am sorry. I am so very sorry.
Those words are not adequate enough to convey the depth of my sorrow for what you were made to endure, but they will have to do because I don’t believe adequate words exist.
I am sorry for the horrors you suffered on that Black Shabbat. And I am sorry for every day of continued suffering you are being put through.
I am sorry for the physical, emotional and psychological brutalities. I am sorry for the beheadings, and the burnings, and the rapes. I am sorry for the loss of life and the deaths of your family members, neighbors and friends. I am sorry for the shattering of your safety and bodily autonomy.
I am sorry that some of you were taken and separated from your husbands, wives, parents, children and grandparents. I am sorry for the hell you suffered—and are suffering—while being held hostage. And I am sorry for what your families and loved ones, worried sick about you, are dealing with.
I want to sit and cry with you and hug you all.
I think of you constantly and pray for you.
I weep bittersweet tears watching the clips of you returning home.
Maybe you don’t need to hear this, but it must be said to counter the voices arguing otherwise: You did not deserve this. Not one of you did. You are not to blame.
And I am sorry that large parts of the world seem to feel differently. They have lost their way.
While many have failed you in their response or lack thereof, I’m not interested in talking to them right now. I only want to speak with you.
What you are experiencing now is secondary victimization, where after being victimized, one is treated negatively, with insensitivity, disbelief or blame. There are those who are reacting horrifically—with callousness, with denials or silence, and some even with glee—to the reality of what you faced. They don’t seem to understand that, after everything you’ve suffered and continue to withstand, it is an added layer of immorality and injury to demand that you publicly parade your pain and the ways in which your loved ones were horrifically violated.
You don’t need anyone’s permission to ignore those who refuse to see your humanity while you continue to mourn and grieve everyone and everything you have lost. Take care of yourselves while you tend to the women and children who have been returned, and move heaven and earth to bring the remaining hostages back.
Understandably, many are now invoking the biblical story of Dena’s rape and the way she is removed from the narrative to rebuke the world’s silence about—and silencing of—Israeli victims, especially those that were sexually violated on Oct. 7 and in captivity. I, too, have wondered about her silence. Is it because she was never asked to speak? Or because she could not? Or because she felt it would be futile to do so in a world that does not believe victims? I thought we had made progress. I cannot believe that we are back here.
I believe you.
I believe you. I believe you. I believe you.
And Dena is removed from decision-making in the aftermath of being raped. Her brothers do not inquire as to what she would like them to do in response. So, I want to ask: How can we help you? What do you need? We are here for you, whenever you are ready.
You are more than what was done to you on Oct. 7, and the same is true for those you lost. We read your stories and learn about your beautiful full lives that go beyond this terribly traumatic victimization. And we watch in awe as you use your strength to rally around and advocate for each other.
And to those who were murdered that day, Am Yisrael Chai. You will live on as well—each time we say your names, do good deeds in your honor and light candles in your memory. We will not forget you. The first responders who tended to your bodies and prepared you for burial with dignity are ensuring that the world knows what you were put through. So many are doing their best to ensure your voice is widely heard.
Remember that healing takes time, it will happen on your own schedule, and there is no one right way to do so or respond to all you have endured.
Know that there is a multitude of people, Jews and non-Jews as well, who are holding you in our hearts and surrounding you with support.T
May Hashem heal you and bless you, and bring every one of you home.
Sending love and strength as you recover and rebuild, and wishes that the lights of Chanukah have dispelled some of this darkness,
Guila Benchimol