I’ve always loved Rosh Hashanah, but this year the celebration feels bittersweet.

Unlike many other Jewish holidays, on Rosh Hashanah, we don’t dwell on the suffering of our ancestors. Instead, we look forward: we eat everything with honey to usher in a sweet New Year. 

I used to cherish these few days of festivity, knowing soon the mood would shift. The period between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is known as the 10 Days of T’shuva. 

Typically, we use this time to perform Tashlich. Tashlich, which literally means “to cast off” in Hebrew, is a ritual where we throw bits of bread into flowing water, symbolizing the casting off of our sins from the past year.

We cannot atone ourselves simply through ritual and metaphor, however, if we refuse to admit to our sins. 

As we approach one full year since Israel began its bombardment of Gaza in response to the Oct. 7, 2023 Hamas attacks, I struggle to comprehend just how far we’ve fallen. 

I can’t help but think to this past November when I was discussing a column idea I had with my parents which would call for a ceasefire and an end to the Israeli occupation. I expressed concerns that the piece might not even be relevant by the time it would be published. 

After all, the hostage exchange and temporary ceasefire felt like signs of progress. 

My dad was sure. In three weeks, there will be a permanent ceasefire, he said. 

So I reworked the piece, brought it closer to home—maybe you’ve even read it: “I’m an Anti-Zionist Jew. There’s no community for me on campus.” 

I padded about half of that column with my credentials—100% Ashkenazi Jewish, Israeli citizen, granddaughter of Holocaust survivors—and highlighted my Jewish pride, knowing still that the high road wouldn’t take me anywhere. 

But the Vermont Cynic’s Instagram comment section under my column proved me wrong. I was met with such open-minded and understanding comments such as:

“It’s so telling how the only people who are calling you brave are non-Jews or fellow self-hating Jews. They picked you for now, but eventually they’ll come for you too. Don’t ever forget that,” stated user @feisty.yaeli in the comment section of the column’s Nov. 30, 2023 post from the Vermont Cynic Instagram.

Others demonstrated their loyalty and love to all Jews, even ones they disagree with. 

“hey! u have no space with jews. we don’t want you. you are a disgrace and a traitor to every jew who has fought for centuries for our freedom and the return to israel. it’s genuinely insane to me that you think you can be anti-zionist and celebrate chanukkah. you will never find a space among the (actual) jewish community ever again,” stated user @mia_dror in the comment section of the same post.

One user even gave me some helpful writing advice. 

“Alternative headline: ‘pick me’ self-tokenizing  Jews triggered by consequences this holiday season,” user @moonkart stated.

I will admit, they’re getting more creative. No longer am I just a “self-hating Jew” or a “Kapo” but also a “self-tokenizing,” “pick me” Jew. 

“Hanukkah must be rough for an anti-Zionist Jew. Do you change the letters on the dreidel?” asked user @danielle927. 

Good question. The answer is no, I wouldn’t think of it! Like a traditional dreidel, mine read Nun, Gimel, Hei, Peh: Nes Gadol Haya Po. Or, for the less hebraically inclined: “a great miracle happened here.” You know, Burlington, Vermont. 

“We get it dude, you’re a virgin” stated user @anaustriannnobleman, who, I can only assume, must be unaware that you don’t have to go on Birthright to lose your virginity. 

I was even noticed by some prominent influencers, users with some tens of thousands of followers took time out of their day to comment on my Cynic column, even platforming me on their story.

While the 500+ hate comments might have stung, the truth is, those couldn’t compare to the outpouring of support I received. 

I didn’t realize just how many Jewish students my column would resonate with—people who I hadn’t talked to since middle school, Instagram mutuals who I’ve never actually seen on campus and even some students I’d met through Hillel reached out to me.

The headline of that column doesn’t ring true to me anymore. I have been able to find a community on campus in groups like UVM Jews for Liberation and Kehillat Rodfei Tzedek which offer Jewish students a space to practice and observe holidays without turning a blind eye to genocide. 

Still, these new friendships and communities are bittersweet. As aforementioned, I wrote and published that column during the six-day temporary ceasefire. A permanent ceasefire felt touchable. 

I’ve since realized that might have been the most hopeful period of time in the past 12 months of killing. The hostages have been left for dead. Israel has rejected every proposed ceasefire deal since and a larger regional war is underway. 

There is no pleading ignorance in the age of social media; we have unprecedented access to images and videos of atrocity. There is no excuse for complacency. 

As much as we’d like to believe just throwing breadcrumbs in the river will wash away our sins, they won’t. And maybe we don’t deserve to so easily shrug off last year’s sins. 

I can’t pretend to be any better than anyone else. We all must take responsibility for our actions—or, more often, inaction—and hold ourselves materially accountable. We must call upon our communities, institutions, representatives: let it be known that we will not be complicit to apartheid and genocide. 

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