People who have experienced loss often say that their perception of time changes. It can feel like no time has passed at all, or it can feel like it is moving a lot faster. Many people here in Jerusalem describe the past year as feeling like one long day that stretches back to October 7.
The idea of looking back on those 12 months feels strange, because in many ways October 7 hasn’t ended.
This is why, at demonstrations for a ceasefire and a deal for the return of the hostages, many protesters follow the example of the hostages’ families by writing the number of days that have passed since they were seized.
Most people I speak to, Israelis and Palestinians, express a common concern. They ask the same questions they had 12 months ago: “Where is this all heading? Where does it all go from here?”
I am writing this knowing that by the time it is published there is more than a chance that things will have changed. And I think I wrote the exact same sentence a year ago.
Jerusalem experienced one of its most heartbreaking and difficult weeks just four weeks ago when it was announced Carmel Gat (40), Alex Lobanov (32), Ori Danino (25), Eden Yerushalmi (24), Almog Sarusi (27) and Hersh Goldberg-Polin (23), six civilians who were kidnapped on October 7 by Hamas, had been murdered by their captors. Forensic findings from the tunnel where they were found suggest that they were held there for many weeks and that they tried to protect each other when they were shot.
Two of the six, Danino and Goldberg-Polin, were Jerusalemites. On the day of the funerals, the city stood still. They were murdered after 11 months in which they had managed to survive in horrible conditions and overcame horrific injuries. They died in a dark suffocating tunnel for no reason at all. They were normal people just like you and me.
Israel’s national ethos is that it does not leave people behind. It is connected to the old Jewish religious duty Pidyon shvuyim — bringing captives home safely. The fact that the country failed to bring these hostages home broke something — the unwritten contract between the state and its people. That, even in the incredible pace of events here, had a huge impact.
The words of Goldberg-Polin’s parents at his funeral echoed from every corner and still echo now: no call for revenge, gratitude for being his parents and hope for more understanding between all; hope that his death will somehow lead to the release of the remaining 101 hostages still held in Gaza. His mother said that he is “finally, finally finally free”. His father said his son would have pushed to end the cycle of violence.
Ori Danino had reached safety on October 7; he got out of the Nova festival that was attacked by Hamas but went back in to help people he just met. He was then kidnapped.
His father, Rabbi Elhanan Danino, had a quiet yet painfully sharp exchange of words with Benjamin Netanyahu, who came to express condolences at the family’s Shiva, the Jewish seven days of mourning. He expressed what many here feel, telling the prime minister: stop the petty politics and spin; make a deal and bring the hostages home.
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Tséla Rubel: ‘The pace of events does not give you a moment to breathe’
Hersh Goldberg-Polin left Jerusalem for the Nova festival with his two friends on October 7. He was a fan of Hapoel Jerusalem FC. Hapoel means ‘the worker’ and the club was established by a trade union. It is owned by its fans and known for promoting inclusion and coexistence; for fighting for equality and against racism. The fans, both Arabs and Jews, kept Hersh’s captivity in the headlines in any way they could. I watched them with amazement and awe and tried to walk next to them at demonstrations.
Jerusalem is small. It’s the type of place where if you don’t go to the market one Friday, the vegetable vendor will ask you where you were.
You know many people personally, or recognise their faces. You met them at university, at work, at the pub, on a Shabbat dinner with friends or in synagogues, even if you are not religious and attend only on holidays. Like the ones coming up now. Like the one that last year on October 7 was supposed to be celebrated: Simchat Torah.
It was the holiday that probably encouraged the parties like the Nova in the south, and gatherings at the kibbutzes and towns that were attacked. It is why complete families were sometimes affected so badly on October 7, with all three generations either kidnapped, injured or killed. I cannot imagine what the holidays are going to be like now, and from now on. It will be undoubtedly a sombre time.
As I write this there are still 101 hostages held by Hamas in Gaza. Breaking news is of ongoing barrages of mutual bombardments between Israel and Hezbollah.
Throughout this year, Jerusalem hosted many of the evacuees from the south of Israel and its north. The eruption of violence with Hezbollah did not start now; in fact it started shortly after October 7, a steady stream of rockets and mortar bombs targeting the north of Israel that made life there impossible, and the state evacuated the residents. Tens of thousands of them joined the evacuees from the south.
And 12 months later? On Tuesday Israel launched a ‘limited ground operation’ in Lebanon; the Israeli Defence Forces said it was to prevent Hezbollah planning an invasion to Israel’s north towns and kibbutzes, similar to the October 7 attack. Later that day, Iran fired almost 200 missiles towards Israel; most were intercepted.
The chance of an all-out open war is rising again. It can still be avoided, but who knows. And the question asked on October 7, as on the 363rd day of the war, “where does it all lead us?” remains.
The war affects everything, every aspect of life and everyone in this neck of the woods, regardless of who or what they are. If I had to describe just the feeling of the year, it would be something like: a continuing stress on the highest of levels, interrupted by peaks of severe anxiety. The kind you read about in books and thought to yourself what would you do if you lived in that time in history. The pace of events does not give you a moment to breathe and clear your head.
It is hard to look to the future and try to imagine a better reality. But I think that’s exactly what extremists aim for when they choose the path of violence: to kill all hope that things can ever be different.
So at this time I choose to look at Hersh Goldberg-Polin’s much-loved football club, Hapoel Jerusalem. Their causes, values, solidarity. And their unapologetic work and hope for a better future for Jerusalem and for us all.
Tséla Rubel is a historian