October 7th: A Day With No End - by Tamir Steinman

 

Three years since the October 7th massacre.

Most of the time, I push this boulder alone. Fleeing from the abyss, escaping the summit, hiding in its shadow from the burning sun, crushed beneath it, rising again to climb into a new morning, wandering through dim streets. Yet it is always here, kicking in my heart with every beat, alive inside me.

Three years passed, and a thousand more, will never wash away the bloodstains left on the bed where Yaniv Zohar, his wife Yasmin, and their daughters Keshet and Tehelet were murdered in each other's arms at their home in Kibbutz Nahal Oz. A scene I saw after they were gone.

They will never dry the tears of Carmel, father of Roee Idan from Kibbutz Kfar Aza, who stepped outside to photograph the skies, capturing those who would become his and his wife Smadar’s killers.

They will never dull the pain of Koren and Shay, sons of Gil Tasa, who watched their beloved father shield them before he was murdered in Netiv HaAsara.

More than 1,200 of our brothers and sisters met a brutal end that day.

Countless others have fallen since the storm, swept away by relentless waves that continue to shatter against the shore. Cleared for publication, written into the pages of history, torn from our lives forever.

No whitewashing will ever scrub the stain of guilt from the uniforms of the commanders who failed. No makeup will ever hide the Mark of Cain on the foreheads of the politicians who abandoned us.

October 7th is a day that will never end. A line cut deep, forever separating the Israel that was from the one we have become.