October 7th, 2023, was a day of tragedy, horror, and unfathomable loss. Everyone has their own way of carrying the weight of that day. Many people turn to memorials like the Nova Exhibition, which has been traveling from city to city, offering a raw, unflinching portrayal of the attack on the festival. Some colleagues from work attended, and I considered joining them. But even the video clips of the exhibition were enough to wake me up with nightmares. I knew I needed to find a different way to connect with what happened.
Horror has its limits as a teaching tool. It often aims to provoke anger, and while anger can be righteous—even necessary—it’s one-dimensional. It doesn’t help us grow. It doesn’t make us kinder, wiser, or more whole.
As I searched for another way to engage with the gravity of the day, I found myself at a Matisyahu concert during Purim.
I’ve known about Matisyahu for years—a Jewish man from Westchester who became a Hasidic rapper, blending faith and music in ways that defy easy categories. But I hadn’t really listened to him until recently. He’s the kind of artist who might have been performing at the Nova Festival himself, his music rooted in themes of peace, love, and hope—the very ideals that feel most fragile in the face of such overwhelming hate.
One of his songs, “One Day,” is a soaring anthem about unity and the hope for a better world. It’s a catchy, uplifting piece that has a way of sticking with you. I remember it being played to close Evy Katersky’s Bat Mitzvah in September. We all stood together, reading the lyrics printed on the back of the program, and sang: “All my life I’ve been waiting for, I’ve been praying for, for the people to say that we don’t wanna fight no more…” Whether sung in a concert hall or at a celebration, its words carry the same weight—a collective prayer for something better.
At the concert, Matisyahu wore a Nova Festival banner—a quiet but powerful gesture to honor those who were lost. Watching him perform, it struck me how much he embodies everything that was attacked on October 7th: joy, spirituality, and an unwavering belief in connection over division. These weren’t soldiers who were killed at the Nova Festival; they were people who simply wanted to share music, peace, and love under the open sky.
And yet, even Matisyahu hasn’t been spared from hatred. Since October 7th, protests have followed him, not because of anything he’s done, but simply because he is Jewish. It’s a bitter irony: a man whose art is about unity and healing being boycotted for his identity, as though his very existence is a provocation. The protests feel like an extension of the same divisive forces that seek to undermine peace, attacking the ideals of love and connection that his music embodies.
At its heart, this is a fight for unity, sanity, and love—not divisiveness. The terrorists sought to tear apart the fabric of connection, but they cannot be allowed to succeed. The response has to be a doubling down on the very values they tried to destroy: hope, peace, and community.
Of course, vigilance is essential. Of course, we must stand firm against terrorism and protect innocent lives. The hostages still held from that day cannot be forgotten. But for me, the best way to honor the victims of October 7th is to celebrate the joy and connection they stood for—the music, love, and peace that filled their lives.
When Matisyahu sang “One Day” that night, it wasn’t just a song. It was a prayer, a defiant hope that the values the terrorists tried to erase will outlast their violence. That one day, things really will be better.
Addendum (1/5/2025)
I learned about a similar story of love triumphing over fear: Laniado Hospital in Israel. Founded by Rabbi Yekutiel Yehuda Halberstam, a Holocaust survivor who lost his wife and 11 children during the Shoah, it stands as a profound example of turning unimaginable pain into purpose. Rather than succumbing to bitterness, Rabbi Halberstam envisioned a hospital that would treat everyone—regardless of race, religion, or nationality—a place where healing would transcend divisions.
Located in Netanya, Laniado isn’t just a hospital; it’s a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the power of compassion. It reminds us that even in the wake of unimaginable suffering, we have the capacity to build something rooted in love, care, and a commitment to our shared humanity. In a world often fractured by hate, it’s a powerful example of how we can choose to respond: by creating spaces where unity and hope are allowed to flourish.