Echoes of Light

I was dreading October 7. The day that reminded us that we are still here a year later. Until I made a few new friends. Two weeks ago my newest friend Zach and I realized we had no place to go on October 7, and then Zach called his friend Dana, and I called my friend Eden, and we became ECHOES OF LIGHT.

What is an echo of light? We all know of the tradition of Yarzheit: letting a candle burn for 24 hours in memorial for someone who died. Well the notion of an echo of light is that the action of memorializing the worst day in our recent history as Jews would be the catalyst for rebuilding, for regenerating, and for promising to carry a light together in the darkness to a brighter future. As I said during the evening onstage: every time the antisemites find a new noise to make to hate us, all they do is render us stronger, brighter and more committed to staying alive. In these times, the only words our enemies have are slogans:

Genocide.

Apartheid.

Free Palestine.

From The River To The Sea.

But we have so much more. We have thousands of years of psalms and poetry and scripture and philosophy and science and religion and thought leadership and politics and art and LOVE. We have innovation. Echoes Of Light was a call to act; an evening about finding that power in our darkest hour, and vouching to bring each other forward in healing and restoration of mind, body, spirit and collective soul. To take the brokenness and glue it back with the brightest flecks of gold. Like kintsugi.

On Monday night at sunset, 250 of our closest friends sat in a round on the grass beneath the stars, lit a candle, and sat around the fire pit in one of the most special groups I have ever been among. We were joined by the inimitable Rabbi Leder in yarzheit prayers. We sang Hatikvah (“The Hope”). We linked arms for Oseh Shalom. We cried together. We harmonized together. We remembered together.

Our focus for Echoes Of Light was the Nova community, and specifically a charity called SafeHeart, which provides urgent, life-saving mental health services to some of the thousands of survivors of Nova and their families. For me the Nova community is deeply personal. Not just because of the survivors I have met along the way in the past year, all of whom are the most otherworldy truly majestic individuals I have ever had the privilege of knowing, but because music has been the heartbeat of my 37 years on this earth.

Monday was a most surreal night. We found ourselves somehow stuck in the groundhog day, 365 days after the worst day in the history of the Jewish people - our people - since the Holocaust. I’d run thru the gamut of emotions in the few days beforehand. But on October 7 this year, I woke up and I felt lucky to be alive. To be here: a living testimony of our story as a people during a time in which the world is full of the same antisemitic hate, just wearing a new costume. We Jewish people are all survivors. And we are all called right now to stand for good in the face of evil. To find our purpose. Monday night was to be one of inspiration and of purpose, not just commemoration. It’s in finding purpose that we overcome trauma. To represent that purpose, we flew in Tal Nimrodi from SafeHeart, and Maayan Dee and Hannah Tavor, two beautiful and brave young Nova survivors who flew to speak to us from Israel about how they overcame the horrors of the massacre a year before.

I was a music journalist once upon a time. That’s why I called this newsletter Blacklisted. Because when I became too Jewish with my voice, I was no longer welcome behind the velvet rope. I carry my own trauma too. I have been trying to wield together the different jigsaw pieces of my life that were split apart by October 7 and the world that led to it. The love of my life was music. And… I am also a Jew. Spiritually. Emotionally. Intellectually. I never imagined that my life as a rock critic would be incompatible with my proud Jewish soul. On the morning of October 7, Nova was a nightmare that stunned me in a freeze state. It took my breath away and it stopped my heart. It inspired anger in me. Deep anger. I have attended hundreds of musiic festivals. I know what a place Nova is. Youth. Joy. The essence of life itself. The footage, the stories, the pain burned a hole in my soul on October 7. And then October 8, and the manner in which former friends, former editors, the very pages I used to contribute to turned the cheek, ignored, and then some participated in the twisting of narrative turning the young Israelis murdered somehow into the villains…. Well, the hole that burned expanded. It became a black hole in a dark universe and I knew the only way was to seek the light.

During Monday’s program, Eden and I discussed our experiences going to Israel since October 7 and bearing witness to the atrocities. I recounted just a handful of the survivor stories that I’ve felt a responsibility to tell over the last year. Telling these stories is my duty as a Jew. As Jews, we all carry each other’s pain and share the burden. However, I couldn’t have anticipated that in front of such a large crowd, Maayan and Hannah would be as receptive to recount their personal survival stories as the three of us took the stage. I could see the words caught in their throats at times. Maayan spoke of her lucky car escape and Hannah revealed that she had to hide for eight hours, while hearing all of the horrors going on around her. They managed to get the truth out, and to be recognized for the ordeals they have overcome. So brave.

Not only did they have the courage to share their stories, but they both gifted us with their own original songs written in the post-trauma from 10/7. Hannah and Maayan are both exceptional musicians and songwriters. Hannah’s song is one of great temerity, as she talks about the fight to want to stay alive. It’s called “I Want To Desire”. There was not a dry eye in the house as she performed in her native tongue:

Where do I stand in my current point in time,
Where do I want to be?
No matter what I did it keeps repeating in my mind,
But where, where do I want to be?

My body that feels, insists that I release,
My logical mind resists.
Which part of my heart does it fill if at all?
Is it even in my power to overcome alone?

I wish I could fast forward time
I want to live, I want to live, I want to live
To rejoice and dance like I used to
I want to desire, I want to desire, I want to desire

I promised you there,
When the death came close and was so near,
That I’ll no longer fear,
To fall down and break,

To try and attempt,
Outside of all the danger
To hold on to my promise
And believe I’m in a safe place, frustrating
Why me?

Why did you choose in me?
Is in my power to reward you in return?
I wish I could fast forward time
I just want to live, just want to live, just want to live

To rejoice and dance like I did
I want to desire, I want to desire, I want to desire
Where do I stand in my current point in time
Where do I want to be

The night did not end before Maayan also performed her song, which we set to the faces of the remaining 101 hostages in Gaza. When Maayan and Hannah were sent to me as survivors willing to travel to Los Angeles on this anniversary I didn’t know they were musicians. Maayan sent me this song, and from the moment I heard it, I knew the melody like I’d known it for a hundred years. Maayan explained to me over text message, and later to the audience, that when she first wrote her song “Bring Them Home” and added the line “bring me home” she didn’t realize why she’d done it, but now she understands that on October 7 everyone who survived lost a part of themselves that they’re still trying to bring back:

As we finished up and watched the flickering flames from all who spent the night with us, the black sky had turned purple. A soft bright shade of purple. I don’t know how else to explain it other than to say that a/ we healed in the dark and b/ maybe we do control the weather?!

We became the light.

As I wrote above – I was dreading Monday a few weeks ago. I thought it was going to feel like the same October 7 of last year. But it didn’t. Because we are changed. We came together. We found each other. We continue to be the hope for our whole tribe.

And so while our haters didn’t wait till October 8 to begin their meshugas this year (they celebrated the year anniversary on the day), I've found myself caring less and less about the ignorant herd of self-obsessed propagandist hateful idiots who are so insensitive to trauma and suffering and grief that on Monday they would not allow Jewish people ONE DAY of remembrance without posting their Instagram-inspired emoji accompanied absolutist sensationalized word stir-fries.

I’m leaning on the resilience of Jews. Increasingly the lesson of the Holocaust for me (and of every period of Jewish history including October 7) is that in spite of the worst crimes ever recorded, survivors got out and lived till they were 100+ years old, and still live, and fell in love again, and had lots of children, and contributed so much to society. That's where I find my hope. I no longer place my hope in the notion that other people won't behave as they have behaved in every generation throughout history. That they'll "wake up". They don't want to. You identify them and then you move forward. Obsession and jealousy are the kernels of antisemitism and antizionism. Did you see them tweeting incessantly on October 7 and out in the streets celebrating? It’s because they’re obsessed with us. And why wouldn’t they be? We’re unbelievable.

As I have basked this week in the overpowering magic of Monday night, I am entirely convinced that it is their loss, not ours. We are stronger than ever.

Many thanks to Dana and Richard Pachulski, Zach and Naomi Fabe Suchin, Eden Cohen and Drew Brown, Maayan Dee, Hannah Tavor, Tal Nimordi and the whole team at SafeHeart and to our videographer Janusz Tomczyk and photographer Gil Marom Nielsen.

And thank you to everyone who came. To my readers, please consider donating to SafeHeart: https://www.safeheartil.com/light. As Dana said during our first meeting two weeks ago: “all you need is one photon of light”. We can be that for one other.

Many people at the event asked for the poem I read at the start of the evening. I published it in my previous Substack post. But here it is again. I called it Psalm 10 7.

When our borders were breached by Hamas and our homes were burned to the ground and entire families killed, you took to the streets partying and waving the flags of our murderers and chanted for our genocide.

When our children were incinerated alive in ovens in front of their parents, you demanded to see the images of the beheaded babies.

When our women were brutally raped and mutilated, you denied the atrocities and told us to show you proof, after we stood side-by-side with sexual assault survivors the world over.

When our women and children and men were taken hostage and kidnapped into Gaza, you ripped down their posters and dehumanized them.

When our army sought to enter Rafah to rescue hostages who were being kept and starved underground, you screamed "ALL EYES ON RAFAH!" to apply international pressure against our rescue operations.

When those same hostages in Rafah were executed in the tunnels underground you turned the other cheek, and said they deserved it.

When Israel sent hundreds of trucks of aid into Gaza every day, you continued to spread falsehoods that Israel was to blame for any claims of starvation in the Gaza Strip, and not Hamas who stole the aid.

When it was discovered that the United Nations under UNRWA had participated in the atrocities of October 7, you called for more funding to be sent under the guise of humanitarianism knowing it would be intercepted by terrorists.

When it was reported that the war in Gaza has the lowest ratio of militant to civilian deaths in the history of urban warfare, you continued to parrot Hamas propaganda, and laud the international media organizations and the Qatari-funded Al Jazeera who reverse-engineered a charge of genocide against Israel for simply defending ourselves.

When Hezbollah fired thousands of rockets into Israel since October 7, expelling 90,000 civilians from their homes, destroying buildings and murdering 12 Druze children playing soccer on a Saturday afternoon, you were still crying about Al Shifa hospital in Gaza; a hospital that Israel never in fact bombed.

When the Iron Dome saved millions of lives the night that the Islamic Republic of Iran sent hundreds of ballistic missiles to Israel in both April and October, you shed tears over the United States' continued aid in funding the most sophisticated defense system in the world.

When the Mossad executed the most precise targeted attack in military history against a terror network embedded within a civilian society in Lebanon with minimal damage to innocents and thousands of terrorist casualties, you screamed that it was an act of "Jewish terrorism".

When the IDF annihilated more terrorists on the United States watchlist in a matter of weeks than America had managed in 20 years, you stood firmly with the Iranian proxy terror groups, while oppressed civilians all over Lebanon, Syria and Iran cried tears of celebrations and hope that Israel would help liberate them from their tyrannical regimes.

We know you by your actions. In every generation you rise up to destroy us, and you fail. Because the people of Israel live.

It is not the right side of history. It is the only side of history.