Hope Amidst Conflict: Reflections on October 7th

“I was in Israel-Palestine on October 7th.” These words have caused strong and diverse reactions, sometimes starting conversations and sometimes shutting them down. But no one truly knows what this sentence means for me, as my experience in the Holy Land has continued to take on new meanings, changing me and my life. 

While on a pilgrimage with adults from my Episcopal church, we were immediately aware of the clashing of the ancient and new worlds: modern buildings juxtaposed with those of Jesus’ time, the trio of languages on each sign, and the looks on the faces of people from many backgrounds who all call this land home. 

Over ten days—even after the war started—we experienced ancient holy sites from all three Abrahamic religions, saw the physical and emotional divisions between peoples, and received hospitality from Israelis and Palestinians alike. 

When we woke up in Nazareth on October 7th, rumors of rockets from Gaza loomed over our breakfast conversations, but we had no idea of the scope of what had happened. As the day went on, the gravity of the Hamas attack would set in, and by 3 PM, the country was shutting down. 

In the coming days, I heard air raid sirens while standing in the Holy Sepulcher; I felt ancient buildings rattle as warplanes flew overhead; I watched a Palestinian man get pulled from his vehicle and arrested as he paused at a stoplight; and I listened to an Israeli father’s fearful and quaking voice as he spoke on the phone with his son, a new IDF soldier.

At the same time, our Palestinian guides welcomed us into their community, where they lovingly call their neighbors their “cousins.” We also were graced by the kindness of Israelis, as we made new friends on the banks of the Sea of Galilee. This beautiful and diverse land has an undeniable spirit. Whether or not the events that claim to have happened here happened, the spiritual experiences that people from around the world have had in this place could be felt in the air. 

I had spent ten days in this place, falling in love with the land and the people, then watching them start to kill each other. 

When I returned home, I did not know what to do with myself. How could I learn physics or play ultimate frisbee when kids across the world were running from bombs? What refocused me on academics and helped me work harder than ever was a realization that my education and extracurriculars could help me bring good to the world. 

Not knowing how I could solve the conflicts I witnessed, I focused on issues in my community. I campaigned to make DC Public Schools more sustainable; I built a community garden for the unhoused; I volunteered at events in my neighborhood and at my church; and I worked to be a caring and compassionate friend. I found joy in this. 

Still, my heart is heavy as I follow the news. My experience has changed my life and given me a passion for peace in the Middle East, but it has also filled my heart with sorrow as I feel for the people I left behind. 

I often return in my mind to scenes of children playing soccer in the Old City near where I heard air raid sirens. When I remember the sirens, I feel immense sadness for people facing wars that we as a collective cannot seem to solve. But I also remember seeing the joyful faces of those kids, which remind me that it is okay to find light when life doesn’t feel okay. 

I have realized that when the world feels heavy, it is joy that keeps us going. Knowing that joy is something deeper than mere happiness, I now search for it in every part of my life, while retaining the sorrows that often make the joy more meaningful. I am still learning that balance. In college, I want to continue learning about communities and issues in the world while also working to gain the skills to make a difference. For now, I will continue working for positive changes around me wherever I can, so a ripple of good can grow into something greater.