October 7th: Two Years Later

The World Forgot, But We Did Not

Two years have passed since that morning when the world stopped breathing. October 7th, 2023, is a date carved into the soul of every Jew. We watched the unthinkable unfold in real time. Entire families were murdered. Children were taken from their beds. Women were assaulted, humiliated, and dragged into captivity. It was not a war. It was a massacre.

At first, the world was horrified. For a moment, it felt like humanity still had a heartbeat. But then the shock faded, and the explanations began. Suddenly, there were people saying, “It’s complicated.” As if slaughtering civilians requires context. As if morality can be debated when children are butchered in front of their parents. What followed was almost harder to watch than the attack itself: the silence, the justifications, the indifference.

We were forced into a war we did not choose. A war we still fight because forty-eight of our people remain in Gaza, held in conditions no human being should endure. We cannot end this fight until they return home. Every soldier who ever put on a uniform carries the same promise. We do not leave our own behind.

But while we fight for the living, the world seems to have forgotten the dead.

The Anti-Defamation League recorded a 361 percent increase in antisemitic incidents in the three months following the attack compared to the same period the year before. Over the course of 2023, that number rose 140 percent, reaching 8,873 incidents, the highest ever recorded. By 2024, it climbed again, surpassing 9,300 cases. The math is simple. The more Jews were murdered, the more people felt comfortable hating Jews.

According to the Combat Antisemitism Movement, three and a half million Jewish Americans have reported experiencing antisemitism since October 7. Nearly forty percent of Jewish college students say they feel unsafe on campus because of who they are. Some hide their Stars of David. Some stay quiet in classrooms that once encouraged open dialogue. Hate has become fashionable again.

It is not only the violence that wounds us but the betrayal of reason. Across cities and campuses, people march behind banners that praise murderers. They chant slogans that celebrate death and call it justice. They rewrite history to fit the narrative that evil is good and good is evil. It is not peace they demand. It is erasure. At no point have the voices screaming in the streets called for coexistence. They call for the destruction of Israel. They echo the words of the terrorists who began this war.

We live now in an upside-down world where activists call genocide resistance, where those who rape and burn are called martyrs, and where Jews once again are asked to apologize for surviving.

And yet, we keep walking.

In New York, Paris, London, Berlin, Sydney, we search for signs of each other. A Hebrew letter on a necklace. A Magen David glinting in the sun. A smile exchanged with a stranger who understands without words. In that small connection, there is something stronger than fear. It says I see you. You are not alone.

We have learned to live differently. To watch our backs but not bow our heads. To protect ourselves but not lose our humanity. We teach our children to be proud of who they are, even when the world tells them it would be safer to hide. We remind them that being Jewish was never meant to be easy. It was meant to be meaningful.

Antisemitism has never left us. It just keeps changing its costume. It once wore the robes of religion, then the flags of nationalism. Today it hides behind the slogans of activism. But the hatred is the same. The goal is the same. And like every generation before us, we will outlast it.

The cost of this war has been unbearable. Thousands of innocent lives, Israeli and Palestinian, have been lost. Every life matters. Every loss leaves a hole that cannot be filled. But moral clarity demands truth. Israel did not begin this. Hamas did. And pretending both sides are the same does not bring peace. It buries justice.

The world keeps talking about peace, but peace cannot be built on lies. Peace cannot be built on the bodies of hostages. Peace cannot be built on the denial of what happened that morning.

Two years later, the world may have moved on. We have not. We remember every life stolen. Every child who never came home. Every name that is still whispered in prayer. We remember the hostages who have not yet seen the sky.

We remember because forgetting would mean losing ourselves.

And we are still here. We carry our scars like armor. We speak when silence would be easier. We rebuild when it feels impossible.

We walk together through a world that feels colder than before, and we keep our fire alive. Because no matter how much the world changes, the Jewish spirit does not break. It endures. It adapts. It shines.

Am Yisrael Chai.

Do something amazing,

Tsahi Shemesh
Founder & CEO
Krav Maga Experts

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