A year has passed—12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days. A year and a day since the last day of my former life, when I was happier, smiled more, and was more human. A whole year of suffering, pain, and fear. Even after a year, the war is still here, still raging, still burning. For me and for all of Israel, a year has not truly passed. We are still in that same day, on Shabbat, October 7th, a day that should symbolize joy and happiness for all Jews but now symbolizes the pain and suffering we endure. Since that dark day, the skies have not been clear—they are still red, red with the blood of our brothers and sisters who were murdered in cold blood by our enemies.

To me, time has stood still. It's as if I'm trapped in that same day, the longest and most painful day I can remember. A year later, and the tears still won't stop falling. The fear of what tomorrow might bring continues to haunt me. Just yesterday, an attack took place a few blocks away, and someone I consider family was injured and is now recovering from surgery. She’s just learned that her colleague was killed. It feels like nothing has changed.

Every day, more and more names are added to the growing list of the fallen—faces that will only live on in our memories. Families are shattered, mourning the loss of their loved ones. And for those whose loved ones are still missing, the pain of uncertainty is unbearable. One hundred and one hostages remain trapped in Gaza, subjected to unimaginable cruelty. Our hearts yearn for their safe return.

What about those who are still on the frontlines? In the north, in the south, and in the West Bank, what about them? They fight all day, risking their lives, knowing they could be injured at any moment. And what about those who haven't been in their homes for a year? They've been evacuated and are living in hotels, in places that aren't their homes, and they don't feel safe because they're living near Gaza or in the north, which is under constant attack. And what about you, the Jews in the diaspora who are facing antisemitism that the world thought was forgotten after World War II? You are under threat and have to fear showing who you are as Jews. The only thing that keeps us all going, now and always, is faith—the faith that better days will come.