Before October 7, I was a Hellenist Jew.

Not in the literal, academic sense — but in the way many of us were without ever naming it.

I believed, deeply, in universality. In porous borders of identity. In the idea that if we were enlightened enough, ethical enough, generous enough, we could dissolve the old tribal walls. I trusted language like shared humanity and both sides and context. I believed that culture could soften brutality, that reason could tame fanaticism, that progress bent — if not automatically, then at least eventually — toward justice.

I loved the world. I loved Athens and Berlin and Brooklyn. I loved conversations that braided identities together until no one quite knew where one story ended and another began. I believed that Jewish particularism was something to be held lightly, even suspiciously — that power, especially Jewish power, needed constant moral interrogation. I was proud of being uncomfortable. I mistook discomfort for righteousness.

Then Hamas invaded........

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