Remembering October 7 in Tenafly
The community comes together to grieve, and to look forward
There were so very many people at the October 7 commemoration at the Kaplen JCC on the Palisades in Tenafly.
That was the first, most overwhelming thing you saw as soon as you got there.
Before you started thinking about the abomination you were there to mark and the people you were there to mourn, and even before you started marveling at the logistics — at least to an outside eye, they seemed to go marvelously smoothly — you would be astounded by how many people wanted to be there, outside the JCC, on that cool, dry, quintessentially early-fall evening.
Reports tell us that about 4,250 people came to the big, many-peaked tent on the JCC’s grounds. That’s by far the largest single crowd that the JCC ever has hosted, its CEO, Steve Rogers, said. The second largest crowd, 3,500, was there on October 10 last year, still in shock three days after the massacre.
On Monday night, people parked, as directed, in lots across Tenafly and into Englewood Cliffs, and then shuttle buses took them to the commemoration. There were so many orange traffic cones around that Chris Christie would have felt entirely at home. (Most likely, though, if you were going anywhere else in Tenafly, like shopping or out to dinner, you were out of luck.)
We all were checked in quickly and efficiently; we’d all registered online, been emailed individual QR codes, showed those codes plus a piece of government-issued ID, and then were let through into the vast tent, where the chairs were packed together so tightly that anyone worried about covid would hyperventilate immediately. Large, strategically positioned screens showed the action onstage and the videos that were screened at the program’s beginning and end.
There also was a great deal of security; the officers we saw were polite, friendly, helpful, and vigilant; they also carried what seemed to my entirely untutored eye to be assault rifles. There no doubt were officers we did not see, similarly deployed to protect us. And it worked. We felt — and in fact we were — safe.
The program was put together by the Jewish Federation of Northern New Jersey, with the help of the JCC and the participation of many local shuls and schools, including the local divisions of national organizations (and the Jewish Standard).
After the JCC’s teen chorus led the audience in the Star-Spangled Banner and Hativkah, the federation’s president, Daniel Herz, and CEO, Jason Shames, opened the program, which began fashionably late, by thanking those supporters, before they talked about the theme that ran throughout the evening — that as Israel is under attack, as antisemitism increasingly slimes its way out from the sewers where it had been contained, it is up to us to support Israel, and to do it as one undivided community. That we certainly won’t all agree with each other, but those disagreement are irrelevant in the face of all that connects us. That we are one people, and that unity makes us strong.
After a video that offered a harrowing but thankfully expurgated narrative of October 7, including many shots of joyous dancers at the Nova festival, blissfully unaware of what was to come, we heard talks from two rabbis and four Israelis — a transplanted Israeli who’s the head of the local Israel American Committee, a young survivor, a just slightly older IDF veteran, and the mother of a hostage.
One of those two rabbis, Jennifer Schlosberg of the Glen Rock Jewish Center, is the president of the North Jersey Board of Rabbis. She’s Conservative. The other rabbi, Binyamin Krohn of Young Israel of Teaneck, is the president of the Rabbinical Council of Bergen County. He’s Orthodox.
The two rabbis walked onstage together, and each stood by as the other spoke. Each mentioned their friendship and their respect for each other, and each called the other rabbi. Together, the two modeled coming together across theological and political divides, both for theoretical reasons and because the warmth derived from genuine connection is healing.
After Tal Mor of the Israeli American Council talked about how important it is that Israel not only fight but that it win, attention turned to the young survivor, Inbal Rahaf, now 17. She’s a triathlete from a kibbutz inside the Gaza Envelope that Hamas did not attack; on the early morning of October 7, she was training, on a bicycle, with teammates, when the onslaught began. She talked about how she cycled through nonchalance, disbelief, and panic until she hit the need to survive, which saw her through. On October 8, she was reunited with her parents and siblings, who all were safe. Her story was harrowing. It reminds us that October 7 happened to real people.
Ziv Rahamim, who’d been in Bergen County first as a teenage participant in the JCC of Northern New Jersey’s Open Hearts Open Homes program, remained close to his host family — his “American family,” he called them. He was back last year, by then an IDF reservist, as a counselor in the program. He was on a plane heading to the United States on October 7; once he landed he tried hard to get back home. He knew his unit would be going to war, and he knew that he had to be there with them. By the next day he was preparing to go home — only El Al was flying, so getting a ticket was hard — helped by a connection who not only got him a reservation but paid for it.
On Monday night, Ziv talked a little bit about fighting in Gaza and in the north, about how some of the men in his unit were killed and others injured by a booby trap outside a tunnel in Gaza, and about how he will keep on fighting, because Israel needs him, and all of us need Israel.
And then Yael Alexander, whose son Edan, who was born in Tenafly and graduated from Tenafly High School, and who has been held hostage in Gaza since October 7, took the stage.
Her pain and resolve were palpable, hard to watch but impossible to turn away from.
She talked about Edan’s decision to join the IDF as soon as he graduated from high school, about the pride she and her husband, Adi, Edan’s father, felt (and feel); about the prayer the family always said together whenever he left home. She asked the audience to stand and say it with her — the prayer for a safe return — and we did.
When she finished talking, the audience stood again, this time in her honor.
The evening’s other theme — hope — surfaced again and again as well.
It was present in a sing-along performance by Netanel Hershtik, a well-known Orthodox cantor, and in many of the talks.
It was evident in the video that came close to the evening’s end.
And it was clear in the closing talk, by the JCC’s president, Steve Rogers.
“As we remember and reflect, we look forward with hope and optimism,” Mr. Rogers said.
“The spirit of resilience that defines Israel is not just about surviving but thriving.
“We envision a future where joy and celebration once again fill the streets. Where the music and laughter of a vibrant nation echo far and wide. Together, let us look forward to a time when we will come together not only in remembrance, but in celebration of a future we will shape together. A future we will shape with our hearts. A future we will shape with hope, and a future we will shape with courage.”
And then he concluded with words that led to wild applause.
“The verdict of history is that cultures that worship death, die, while those that sanctify life live on,” he said. “That is why we survive while the great empires that sought our destruction were themselves destroyed.
“Once again, history will repeat itself — and we will dance again.”
As the evening ended — unsurprisingly, it lasted more than the 80 minutes originally scheduled — people were able to filter out of the tent and to their buses or cars surprisingly easily. The police, still carrying their massive weapons, directed the traffic efficiently. It was aback-taking to those of us who know that you don’t ever see any pedestrians on East Clinton Avenue, much less many large groups of them, to see those large groups, but everyone stayed safe and got home.
If they were like me, they were both sobered and heartened by the evening. Sobered by the stories, and particularly by the reminder that Edan Alexander, like 100 other hostages, is still in Gaza, alive or dead, unlikely to be doing well, and in dire need of rescue. And heartened by the knowledge that we are one community — one people with many beliefs and many experiences but one heart — and as long as that is true, yes, there is hope.
Hope for Israel. Hope for the hostages. Hope for the world.
And yes, bring them home!
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