Throughout the month of October, Jews all over the world have gathered around the table with family and friends to celebrate, reflect, and mourn. Rosh Hashanah, a day traditionally filled with love and laughter, marked the beginning of the holy month. Next was Yom Kippur, the day of deep contemplation and expiation. Now, we’ve transitioned into the more festive celebrations of Sukkot and Simchat Torah.

Typically, as we enter Sukkot and Simchat Torah, we are filled with joy and gratitude, celebrating the harvest and dancing with the Torah in hand. But this year feels different. As the anniversary of the darkest day in Jewish history since the Holocaust looms, tears stream down our faces and we are paralyzed by anger and profound sadness. The usual sweetness of the New Year has turned bitter.

How can we remain hopeful for the future when 101 innocent hostages were missing from our Rosh Hashanah meals, Yom Kippur break fasts, and now our Sukkahs?

This October, words like “dark,” “evil,” and “unfathomable” feel empty. Our hearts, already broken, shatter into a million pieces as we realize that our brothers and sisters were supposed to be home by now. For the people of Israel and Jews around the world, the past year has been nothing short of a nightmare.

Anti-Israel protests have flooded our streets and our college campuses. Organizations like Students for Justice in Palestine and Jewish Voice for Peace, under the banner of Palestinian suffering, have perpetuated dangerous antisemitic stereotypes while seeking to justify their cause. Over the past year, more Americans have called for ceasefires, an end to “genocide,” and divestment from Israel, rather than raising their voices to demand that we “Bring Them Home.”

Universities across the country became toxic hotbeds of Jew-hatred and anti-Israel rhetoric, invoking the same ostracizing antisemitic ideologies that paved the way for the Holocaust.

At my alma mater, UCLA, I often felt fearful walking through campus, as intense, intimidating, and sometimes violent protests unfolded.

After all, while chants calling for an “intifada” and “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” — which calls for the destruction of Israel — resounded, anti-Zionist professors held seminars just days after October 7th, attempting to contextualize Hamas’ inhuman attack. Where were campus leaders or administrators enforcing the student conduct code or upholding the university’s values?

To my dismay, at my graduation, students armed with keffiyehs proudly waved their red-stained hands, symbolizing the brutality of the Farhud and the Second Intifada, both of which led to the murder of numerous Jews and Israelis. In the absence of leadership and moral clarity, Jewish students were forced to hold the university accountable for allowing an encampment to enforce a “Jew Exclusion Zone.”

Sadly, not much has changed this school year. While Jews celebrate the joyous holiday of Sukkot, Graduate Students for Justice in Palestine has built a sukkah of their own, using our tradition as a tool to further their agenda.

I could go on and on about the injustice of our nation’s discourse regarding the atrocities of October 7th and its aftermath. But now, as we continue to mourn, I choose to divert my attention to the hostages.

Not a day has gone by that we haven’t thought about you. Not a day has passed without me defending you. I begged my editors at my university paper to publish my words about you, and I urged my friends to listen as I explained your situation. I read, I researched, and I hoped. I, along with so many others in our community, have embraced my Jewish identity like never before. Witnessing your fight has reminded me why I am immensely proud to be a passionate Jew.

On days that feel lifeless, I will honor your lives by challenging myself to embody the resilience that defines the Jewish people and enables us to keep moving forward. I will cherish the memory of each hostage whose life was so brutally taken, and hold close the courage of those who continue to fight for their lives with every passing moment.

Carmel Gat, Eden Yerushalmi, Hersh Goldberg-Polin, Alexander Lobanov, Almog Sarusi, Master Sgt Ori Danino, Abraham Munder, Alex Dancyg, Yagev Buchshtab, Chaim Peri, Yoram Metzger, Nadav Popplewell, Amiram Cooper, Chaim Peri, Yoram Metzger, Nadav Popplewell, Lior Rudaeff, Elyakim Libman, Orion Hernandez, Chanan Yablonka, Michel Nisenbaum, Shani Louk, Amit Buskila, Itzhak Gelerenter, Ron Benjamin, Sonthaya Oakkharasr, Sudthisak Rinthalak, Gadi Haggai, Ron Scherman, Nik Beizer, Tal Chaimi, Joshua Mollel, Eden Zecharya, Ziv Dado, Jonathan Samerano, Sahar Baruch, Dror Kaplun, Aviv Atzili, Arye Zalmanovich, Ronen Engel, Maya Goren, Guy Iluz, Ofir Noa Marciano, Yehudit Weiss, Uriel Baruch, Tamir Adar, Yossi Sharabi, Itay Svirsky, Yotam Haim, Samer Talalka, Alon Shamriz, Inbar Heiman:

May your memory be a blessing. And may your memory ignite a fire within each and every Jewish person to relentlessly pursue and support the justice that Israel deserves: bringing home the rest of the hostages. Your memory should not drift into the abyss of a yearly commemoration of a tragic event, but rather become a constant source of fuel that drives us to protect our people, our home, and our future.

Amidst the grief that overwhelms what is usually a festive time of year, I think of Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks’ explanation of Jewish resilience: “To mend the past, first you have to secure the future. I learned this from the Holocaust survivors I came to know. They were among the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met, and I wanted to understand how they were able to survive, knowing what they knew, seeing what they saw… Jews survived every tragedy because they looked forward.”

Certainly, we must look forward. But perhaps even more importantly, we must carry the memory of October 7th with us into November and beyond. While the elimination of terrorist leaders like Hassan Nasrallah and Yahya Sinwar brings us some relief, it is not nearly enough.

I cannot think of a better way to commemorate October 7th than to embrace the privilege it is to be alive, using our strength not only to preserve the memory of the hostages, but also to fight for the lives of those still with us. So, later this week, we will dance for Simchat Torah. But we must also envision that glorious moment when the hostages, too, will dance again.

Emily Samuels is a recent graduate of UCLA.

The post This Year, We Remember the Hostages; Then We Live first appeared on Algemeiner.com.