Waiting for the cracks to fill

By Molly Ritvo (Burlington, VT)

I’ve noticed so much pain in the past months since October 7–that terrible, terrible date.

It was a date when hope was shattered.

When my sense of safety in the world suddenly caved open.

When hate for Jews bubbled to the surface.

Recently, at Target, my mom said I shouldn’t buy a Hanukkah-themed dress for my daughter. 

I’ve read so many social media posts about pro-Palestinian rallies and cries for stopping aid to Israel. 

There is so much vitriol directed at Israel.

The recent city council meeting in Burlington after a Palestinian man was shot was so painful to witness. 

Many DEI emails I have subscribed to over the years have been sharing anti-Zionist messages.

So many writers who I admire are sharing messages that don’t mention the hostages. Just the blame on Israel.

They all sting. They all hurt. Like a gut punch.

My cousin (who I adore) is part of a progressive Jewish group that is actively anti-Zionist. 

The ADL said this group is antisemitic.

It feels as if these words are losing some meaning. 

I stopped going on Instagram because all I saw were anti-Israel sentiments. Some say that anti-Zionist isn’t antisemitic. But they still hurt just the same.

After visiting Yad Vashem for the first time after college, I remember seeing the window at the end of the museum looking out into Israel and thinking: It’s a hope. A blessing. A refuge.

Is it still?

I have heard from Israelis that they feel more connected to other Israelis now. Maybe that’s a trauma response. 

In America, it’s not the case. There are more sides and splits than ever.

Left. Right. Pro. Anti. Blue flags. Red flags. What are they all doing to us? Scarves. Stars.

So far my daughter doesn’t know there is a war or that being Jewish means knowing that antisemitism exists.

Someday I will have to tell her.

Someday I will have to tell her that being Jewish means carrying trauma in our bodies. 

Someday she will sit in a class and learn about the Holocaust and she will feel anguish and I won’t be able to stop it.

I wish I could say that I feel optimistic and hopeful about a two-state solution.

I don’t.

I wish I could say that Israel wasn’t harming innocent lives. 

It is.

I wish I could say that terrorists don’t exist. They do. They definitely do. They’ve left wounds and raw despair and death in their footsteps.

I wish I could say things will get better soon. 

I am afraid they can’t. 

Too many lives have been lost. 

Too many young people danced in nature at a concert that turned into a nightmare.

My synagogue hired additional security recently. They carry additional weapons now.

The Israelis I know are committed to peace work.

It feels that the American Jewish community is so torn apart.

We are all so tired and wary.

In these cold Vermont winter nights I wonder how we find that still, small light inside of us that doesn’t flicker out.

Where do we find that still, small part that somehow has hope despite the messages telling us over and over again that we’re wrong?

I had a thought one day that maybe we did something wrong, for just living.

And then I realized that is what the terrorists want. For us to not have the right to live.

We do have the right to live.

Diaspora Jews have a right to live. Israel has a right to live.

There’s a split at my home synagogue. There’s a split everywhere, with cracks growing wider and wider. 

I worry that my daughter will someday ask about the war that started when she was in kindergarten, when she liked chocolate ice cream and crispy wafers and playing in the snow and going to the library after school on Wednesdays.

I worry that I will need to tell her that it was just the beginning. I worry that I will need to tell her that the cracks kept widening until we found the courage to fill them with small ounces of hope. 

Molly Ritvo is a writer and author living in Burlington, VT. She has been writing for her whole life, beginning when she was selected as the class poet in the 1st grade. Her work has been published by Upstreet Literary Magazine, Tiny Buddha, Elephant Journal, Mother.ly, PJ Library, At the Well, and more.  She holds a BA from Tufts University and an MFA in Creative Writing from Emerson College. Molly has worked as a freelance writer, a communications specialist for many different organizations, and a journalist. She is currently writing her debut novel, a collection of poetry, and working as a communications’ consultant and grant writer. Her most important role is being a mom to her daughter, Jimi. Find out more about Molly and read more of her writing at mollyritvo.com.