A visit to Israel in the aftermath of Oct. 7 reveals a grieving nation hard at work to heal itself

TEL AVIV, Israel — The moment one arrives at Ben Gurion Airport, the burden of the nation after the atrocities of Oct. 7 comes into sharp focus.

Along the ramp to passport control, there are glass panels overlooking the tarmac. These days there are nothing but planes from El Al — Israel’s national carrier; all other airlines have stopped serving Tel Aviv.

Sitting on a ledge at the base of the windows are placards bearing the faces of those kidnapped during the attacks — faces that I would later see on T-shirts, on posters, on billboards, and projected onto the walls of buildings. The seemingly ever-present portraits of so many smiling faces around Tel Aviv delivered an eerie, silent, and familiar message — “Let my people go!” As on the tarmac, Israelis bear the burden to bring its people home.

Two weeks ago, a small group of local rabbis went on an emergency solidarity mission to Israel led by the Jewish Federation of Greater Philadelphia.

During our 56 hours on the ground, we found a nation in mourning for the 1,200 souls who were murdered by Hamas, but also a nation that was also working hard to heal itself. We heard from family members of the kidnapped and shared their anguish in not knowing the fates of their loved ones, we visited aid centers where volunteers worked to provide everything from mental health counseling to food and supplies to those who survived the terror, and we were given a rare briefing by an elite Israeli Defense Forces team that is still sorting through evidence and other forensic data from Oct. 7.

The team, Unit 504 — the soldiers responsible for interrogating terrorists — told us about the Hamas kidnapping manuals, which they said included explicit instructions to commit atrocities with sadistic savagery.

The manuals made clear that their authors, Hamas’ leadership, many of whom are comfortably ensconced in foreign countries, sought to trigger Holocaust trauma and provoke the Israeli government into a response that would catalyze world opinion against Israel and inflame the Arab street. Similar motives account for Hamas positioning their military operations in and under hospitals to ensure either a military victory, if not attacked, or a public relations coup if they are.

Hamas’ ideology is one of Islamic supremacy: Only faithful Muslims can rule in dar-al-Islam, the abode of Islam — the lands where Muslim sovereignty once prevailed. Fortunately, their fundamentalist mentality is not shared by all in the region.

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When Arab states have acquiesced to Israel’s existence, Israel has made peace or normalized relations with them: Egypt, Jordan, the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Morocco, and Sudan. Hamas’ recent brutality was prompted by the news that Saudi Arabia was poised to normalize relations with Israel. Hamas couldn’t tolerate that because Hamas can’t tolerate the existence of a Jewish state in what was once the abode of Islam.

The sin of Islamic supremacy is, in theory, no worse than the sin of Jewish supremacy, which exists among some political parties in Israel’s governing coalition — and the sin of white Christian supremacy, which exists in some quarters of America’s politics, especially the extreme wing of the Republican Party. They’re equally pernicious, although not equally bloodthirsty.

Our solidarity mission heard plenty of horror stories, but we also experienced the inspiring unity of Israelis, both Jewish and Muslim. In addition to providing mental health care, a resiliency center in the southern city of Netivot had begun collecting and distributing food, medicine, clothes, and hygiene products thanks to dozens of volunteers. Roughly 360,000 Israelis have been called to reserve duty, leaving many parents alone with their children. Another quarter million Israelis have been evacuated from their homes.

Volunteers, from Israel and abroad, are opening schools in evacuation centers, providing after-school activities, harvesting neglected fields, and cooking and delivering food. Foreign firefighters have volunteered to cover two-week-long shifts so their Israeli counterparts can join their military reserve units on the battlefield. This is an all-hands-on-deck moment, and so many people are stepping up.

The seemingly ever-present portraits of so many smiling faces around Tel Aviv delivered an eerie, silent, and familiar message — “Let my people go!”

The hope expressed by Israeli Jews and Israeli Muslims reminds me of the words of our collective prophet — whether he be called Moses, Moshe, or Musa — who issued a challenge to us that echoes through the generations.

“I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse,” the prophet said. “Choose life — if you and your descendants would live long upon the land that God swore to your fathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”

The children of Abraham — Jews, Christians, and Muslims — must choose life and abandon ideologies that deny the divine image of the other. That image should serve as a reminder to us all of every true religion’s unifying message — that the lives of each and every member of the human family is equally precious.

Shai Cherry is the rabbi of Congregation Adath Jeshurun in Elkins Park and was previously on the faculties of Vanderbilt University, University of California, Los Angeles, and the University of San Diego.