Three Years
Hadar Susskind — October 7, 2026
Yesterday, October 6th, was the 53rd anniversary of the start of the Yom Kippur War. None of us needs a reminder of today's date or what it signifies.
For three years we have lived the post-October 7th reality. We have gone through the many phases of sorrow and horror that followed that day. Mourning those who were killed in the horrific Hamas attack. Praying and working for the release of the hostages. The all-too-rare celebrations when they returned home, and the tragic announcements of their deaths.
And with that came the growing understanding of the Israeli military response in Gaza. Yes, Hamas militants and military bases were targeted, but it soon became clear that, along with that, thousands upon thousands of civilians were being killed and Gaza was being made uninhabitable.
There is great public desire, in both Israel and the United States, to claim that one of these horrors is far worse than the other, to brandish the mantle of righteousness to defend the actions of one side or the other. But no victory, moral or otherwise, lies down that path.
If our goal is not simply to claim that “we are right and they are wrong,” but rather to move toward a better future, then we must acknowledge both our pain, and that of the Palestinians. We must be able to hold the slippery and sometimes painful truth that sorrow and suffering are not the sole property of one people or another.
There are leaders to show us the way. Maoz Inon lost both of his parents on that horrible day. Aziz Abu Sarah had already been living for years with the pain of his brother’s death after being arrested by Israeli security forces. I know that they continue to mourn their family members and to feel their loss. But they turn that loss, that pain and anger, into the work of peacemaking. Today, like so many days, I hold them in my heart and look to them for inspiration.
And they are not the only inspirations. The world got to know the family of Hersh Goldberg-Polin Z”l. His parents, Rachel and Jon, became powerful spokespeople for the hostages and their families, and their message of love and humanity continues to resonate in my heart, even after the tragic death of their son. I keep a poster of Hersh in my office to remind me of him, and all that he represents.
As we all struggle to make our way through this day, I ask you to join me. Mourn with me for all that has been lost. But it is not enough to mourn. Join me in committing to do everything that you can to make the future a better one.
In 1995, while I was serving in the IDF, a song was released entitled “Children of Winter ‘73.” It was written from the perspective of those born around the time of the Yom Kippur War who were then serving in the military. It is a note to the previous generation who had promised them peace. The chorus reads:
You promised a dove,
an olive tree leaf,
you promised peace
You promised spring at home and blossoms
You promised to fulfill promises, you promised a dove
Can we promise peace to the next generation? I do not know what can be achieved and when, but I do know that it will only be possible if we struggle, work, and strive together to bring that better future into being.
