October 7th (2026)

October 7th

Divrei Zikaron
In Jewish tradition, the Talmud introduces a concept known as chazaka - the idea that once an event or action occurs three times, it is considered an established pattern, and a reliably enduring reality. While rooted in Jewish law, it is also psychologically intuitive: after three times, things often settle into a routine.

This year marks our chazaka year of commemorating October 7th. For the third time, we will pause in silence at 6:29 AM to remember the morning that changed our lives forever.

Yet this year, the day feels different. With every hostage finally home, we are experiencing an important shift, beginning the difficult, necessary transition from actively living and enduring October 7th to collectively remembering it.

Remembrance is woven into the very fabric of Jewish identity. Among the earliest commandments given to the Jewish people was to remember our liberation from slavery in Egypt and pass the story down through generations. We are commanded to remember the Shabbat, the revelation at Mount Sinai, and the ancestral struggles against those who sought our destruction. We are a people hardwired to remember our past, and arguably it’s what has guided us throughout the millennia to continue marching towards our future.

Transitioning from immediate trauma to historical memory carries real risks. As time passes, details blur, urgency fades, and historical truth can even be denied. But time also offers a gift, allowing our raw overwhelming pain to mature into enduring tribute and resolve. As our commemoration enters its chazaka, we ensure that our grief, gratitude, and our reverence for those we lost remain chazak, strong and unyielding, for generations to come.

In that spirit of remembrance, I want to share the story of Yonatan Elazari, a young hero from my community of Alon Shvut. We are a small village of around 2,500 people, yet we have lost seven of our neighbors and sons since the war began. Yonatan was the first.

Yonatan had only recently enlisted in the army and was visiting his mechina - a pre-military leadership and study academy - in the southern city of Ofakim to celebrate the holiday of Simchat Torah. Having barely completed basic training, he was still an off-duty recruit without an issued weapon. When sirens wailed and explosions shook the area, everyone rushed to the bomb shelter. But as the sounds of gunfire and terrorists shouting in the streets grew louder, Yonatan refused to stay hidden. He resolved to go outside and protect the town with whatever he could find.

When warned that he had no gear, Yonatan simply answered: "We have to work with what we have."

He began with a handful of stones, then found a knife, and eventually took up a rifle handed to him by a severely wounded soldier. Joining an ad-hoc local defense squad, he fought through the neighborhood, ultimately taking a defensive position on a rooftop. There, he fought a fierce, prolonged battle to protect the civilians below before falling in combat. The ground around him was covered in spent bullet casings, evidence of a young man who stood his ground to the very end.

Yonatan loved nature and the outdoors. Famously, in his final stand, he was wearing classic red Shoresh sandals, the quintessential footwear of Israeli teens and hikers.

In his memory, family and friends built "Yonatan’s Spring", a quiet park and memorial on the outskirts of our town. It is a peaceful place, with a green lawn, small natural spring pool, and spots for families to gather for a picnic or barbecue. I go there often with my young son to teach him to swim and it’s wonderful to see the cheerful faces of the families and young children enjoying innocent fun on a summer’s day. Thanks to Yonatan and those who stood with him, life continues.