A year ago today, my family and I were together with close friends in the Adirondack Mountains. As both families are Israeli-Americans with many family members and friends in Israel, our phones began to ping early that morning.

The four adults talked quietly in the kitchen, not wanting to scare our kids. We were confused and anguished.

In the year since that horrific day, and in the midst of the ongoing brutality and colossal suffering that has followed for both Israelis and Palestinians, I have struggled to make sense of our new reality. What is clear to me is that staying in relationship with people across lines of difference — even when those differences feel stark or intractable — is an essential practice. 

When I noticed LGBTQ+ rights organizations issuing statements about the Israel-Hamas war that Keshet viewed as problematic, I reached out and asked to talk. When Keshet staff heard from numerous queer Jews that they were afraid of antisemitism at Pride parades and marches this past June, our staff reached out to Pride organizers in multiple cities around the country to share these concerns as well as guidelines for how to make it more likely that Jews would be safe. 

I’m not naive or inattentive to the antisemitism that persists in some parts of the queer community and the broader world. But at Keshet, we know that staying connected —  and having honest, courageous, and vulnerable conversations with people who may see the world differently — is the only way forward. That is how we make an impact. That is the work we will continue to do in the days and months ahead.

And when I feel depleted, I look to the hundreds of thousands of Israelis who have filled the streets, demanding an end to the bloodshed. I look to the Israelis and Palestinians who refuse to give up on one another and continue to sustain a vision of a future where both peoples can live in safety and dignity. 

I look to Rachel Goldberg-Polin and Jon Polin, parents to murdered hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin z”l, whose courage and resilience throughout the many months of their son’s captivity, awed the world. As Rachel and Jon continue to remind us, “In a competition of pain, there are no winners.”

Today is a day of mourning. Yet I know that we will find our way back to hope, just as our Jewish and queer ancestors have done for centuries before us. I honor those who came before us, those we lost a year ago today, and all whom we have lost in the months since then. I honor them by refusing to give in to despair. With persistence and faith, we know a better future is possible.