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Dear friends,

As we begin the Sukkot holiday this evening, and prepare to mark the anniversary of October 7 tomorrow, I am reminded of the calm that preceded that dreadful day. How unexpected it was. How quickly the joy and peace of the holiday turned to horror.

I tried to make sense of what was happening as I woke up to messages from friends in Israel – fragments of information about Hamas infiltrating the country on a scale we all believed was impossible.

I called my sister-in-law, desperate to know if my family, living on a kibbutz about 40 kilometers away from Gaza, was safe. I will never forget the fear and dread in her voice. I thought: This must be what people felt on Yom Kippur in 1973 – that same sudden rupture, that same shattering of certainty.

The days and weeks that followed brought fresh heartbreak – missing loved ones, some later found murdered, over 250 people taken hostage, brutality beyond comprehension. Here in America, I was “safe,” yet my heart was shattered, aching to mourn alongside friends and family in Israel.

Two years later, the trauma remains raw. Israelis continue to bear unimaginable pain and loss, and 48 hostages, both living and dead, still remain in Gaza. I have returned to the kibbutzim along the Gaza border and to the Nova Music Festival site, each time feeling the weight of that day – the silence, the grief, the stillness of lives interrupted.

As I’ve held and honored the pain of my Israeli brothers and sisters, I’ve also had to face another excruciating truth: The pain and trauma my people are inflicting upon another.

I have seen images and heard stories of the Palestinian people in Gaza that many in Israel do not acknowledge. I have wrestled deeply with the moral conflict of this war – at times torn between solidarity with Israelis seeking safety and Palestinians yearning for the same.

I have met extraordinary Israelis and Palestinians who, despite carrying deep wounds, refuse to let their pain erase their compassion. They hold fast to humanity, choosing empathy over vengeance. In a time when so many voices push toward division and dehumanization, they stand as a powerful testament to what moral courage truly is – to see the other, even in pain.

In the past two years, I have witnessed a transformation – people who once supported war now calling for it to end. I myself have gone through a transformation. I have seen what war does to people’s hearts and what becomes possible when they choose another path.

Two years later, I still carry the pain of that day. But as we enter Sukkot once again, a holiday that calls upon us to be joyful while also reminding us of fragility, shelter and the possibility of renewal, we must ask ourselves: Can we chart a new path towards happiness? Can we transform horror into peace?

I believe that we can. No one believed it was possible after the Yom Kippur War – and yet, a peace agreement with Egypt became a reality. We can choose that path today: A path toward safety, freedom, stability and peace for both Israelis and Palestinians.

As we mark October 7, may the memories of all those lost be a blessing and a call to action – to end the war, release the hostages and begin rebuilding a future of safety and freedom for all.

In reflection and solidarity,

Adina Vogel-Ayalon
Vice President and Chief of Staff, J StreetDear friends,

As we begin the Sukkot holiday this evening, and prepare to mark the anniversary of October 7 tomorrow, I am reminded of the calm that preceded that dreadful day. How unexpected it was. How quickly the joy and peace of the holiday turned to horror.

I tried to make sense of what was happening as I woke up to messages from friends in Israel – fragments of information about Hamas infiltrating the country on a scale we all believed was impossible.

I called my sister-in-law, desperate to know if my family, living on a kibbutz about 40 kilometers away from Gaza, was safe. I will never forget the fear and dread in her voice. I thought: This must be what people felt on Yom Kippur in 1973 – that same sudden rupture, that same shattering of certainty.

The days and weeks that followed brought fresh heartbreak – missing loved ones, some later found murdered, over 250 people taken hostage, brutality beyond comprehension. Here in America, I was “safe,” yet my heart was shattered, aching to mourn alongside friends and family in Israel.

Two years later, the trauma remains raw. Israelis continue to bear unimaginable pain and loss, and 48 hostages, both living and dead, still remain in Gaza. I have returned to the kibbutzim along the Gaza border and to the Nova Music Festival site, each time feeling the weight of that day – the silence, the grief, the stillness of lives interrupted.

As I’ve held and honored the pain of my Israeli brothers and sisters, I’ve also had to face another excruciating truth: The pain and trauma my people are inflicting upon another.

I have seen images and heard stories of the Palestinian people in Gaza that many in Israel do not acknowledge. I have wrestled deeply with the moral conflict of this war – at times torn between solidarity with Israelis seeking safety and Palestinians yearning for the same.

I have met extraordinary Israelis and Palestinians who, despite carrying deep wounds, refuse to let their pain erase their compassion. They hold fast to humanity, choosing empathy over vengeance. In a time when so many voices push toward division and dehumanization, they stand as a powerful testament to what moral courage truly is – to see the other, even in pain.

In the past two years, I have witnessed a transformation – people who once supported war now calling for it to end. I myself have gone through a transformation. I have seen what war does to people’s hearts and what becomes possible when they choose another path.

Two years later, I still carry the pain of that day. But as we enter Sukkot once again, a holiday that calls upon us to be joyful while also reminding us of fragility, shelter and the possibility of renewal, we must ask ourselves: Can we chart a new path towards happiness? Can we transform horror into peace?

I believe that we can. No one believed it was possible after the Yom Kippur War – and yet, a peace agreement with Egypt became a reality. We can choose that path today: A path toward safety, freedom, stability and peace for both Israelis and Palestinians.

As we mark October 7, may the memories of all those lost be a blessing and a call to action – to end the war, release the hostages and begin rebuilding a future of safety and freedom for all.

In reflection and solidarity,

Adina Vogel-Ayalon
Vice President and Chief of Staff, J Street

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