Written by Emily Magalnik

When my parents immigrated to the United States in 1991, they carried with them a deep and enduring dream. They envisioned a life for their children where they would be able to express their Jewish pride and identity freely without any fear, unlike their upbringing. When my parents were growing up in the Soviet Union they weren’t allowed to learn or practice their Judaism, let alone express their Jewish pride. They never had the privilege to have their Bat or Bar Mitzvahs and didn’t get to celebrate any of the Jewish holidays.

My parents chose to settle in Five Towns, Long Island, a place where they felt their children would receive a great education surrounded by a warm Jewish community; a place where we would proudly wear our Magen Davids, Hamsa necklaces and red strings That is how my brother and I lived, and my parents greatly valued this.

Come October 7th, 2023, our whole world changed forever. That feeling of comfort and tranquility that my family has had for the past 15 years. Gone. In that moment it didn’t feel like it was 2023. For at least a moment, it felt as if I was seeing the world through the eyes of my great grandparents who lived through the pogroms of Soviet Russia.

For the first time ever I didn’t feel safe in my own environment. I still remember the day as if it was yesterday. I was in Brooklyn staying over at my grandma’s house. It was around 11:45 PM on October 6th and I was just laying in my bed scrolling through TikTok and I came across this one live stream that showed a building that had collapsed with fire burning all around it. At first I didn’t think much of it but once I heard the man recording the livestream yell the words “Allahu Akbar” I knew something was seriously wrong. I knew that Israel was under attack. Without any hesitation I ran straight to Google and searched “Israel live updates.” My heart immediately dropped. I felt sick to my stomach. The news headlines said that Hamas had attacked southern Israel, and specifically the Nova Festival: a music festival celebrating life.

An hour passed, and I couldn’t sleep. I was restless, terrified – not just for the people at the music festival, but for everyone living in the Jewish homeland of Israel.

I was able to get about 4 hours of sleep that night. I had specifically set an alarm for 8 am so I could call my other grandma to inform her about all of the horrendous things that are happening in Israel.

When she finally picked up the phone, I didn’t even have a chance to speak. I could already hear the Russian news playing in the background along with my grandfather’s furious voice shouting at the television with such anger. I immediately asked, “Is our family okay?” and my grandma responded with, “We haven’t heard from them yet, but G-D willing everyone is okay.” Even though this was not a very comforting answer, I decided to move on with my day and just wait until I could gather more information.

Fast forward five days. Rumors were going around that tomorrow Friday the 13th, there would be “fake rabbis” coming to our neighborhood and assaulting Jewish members of the community. When I first told my parents about this they thought it was a joke, but once they started seeing this news in community group chats and on social media, their fears were confirmed. We all went to sleep that night assuming the next day would be like any other.. I woke up the next morning at 6:30 AM very confused as to why nobody was awake and getting ready for the day. My mom told me “Emily, go back to sleep, it’s not safe for you to go to school today.” I decided not to question it since I knew what was happening, and I also trusted my parents.

As the day went on, I only heard about maybe one or two of these “fake rabbi” situations. I was still really worried so I decided to stay in my house until I got the confirmation that it was finally safe to go outside. I remember constantly checking my front door because of how paranoid I was.

Just as I had assumed, we never got that confirmation, but we had to move on. The next day, I went back to Brooklyn to stay at my grandparents’ house again because I was attending a Jewish youth group the next day.

From the moment that I entered my grandma’s house I felt a different vibe. She immediately told me that if I was going anywhere that I should hide my Magen David and my red string that I have on my wrist. This made me feel a new level of low that I have never felt before. Never in my life have I been told to hide my Jewish identity. Even when my family and I were crossing the border from Israel into Jordan (technically at peace with Israel, but can be a hostile environment), they told me to keep my Magen David on and to wear it proudly. So when I was told to hide it while walking outside in New York, it truly broke my heart.

I listened to my grandmother and the rest of my family for about a month or so, hiding my Magen David and red string, and then I got fed up. I thought to myself, “Why should I care what other people think?” To this day, I wear them proudly.

What has helped me overcome this fear and show my Jewish pride are the experiences I’ve had with Jewish youth organizations, such as Cteen, SSI (Students Supporting Israel) and JSU/NCSY. One stands out: Club Z, which is a Zionist youth organization dedicated to empowering teens to become leaders in their community through education and Jewish pride.

I’m grateful that throughout these experiences I was also becoming a part of the Club Z community: learning the deep history of the Jewish people, modern Israel and how to educate others. This experience reinforced the importance of Jews showing their pride, and having a strong and supportive Jewish community. The kind my parents have always wanted for me, and one that they have never given up on.

Am Israel Chai.