For many South Floridians, there’s life before Oct. 7 and life after.
Before Oct. 7, 2023, Israel had to deal with neighbors who hate the Jewish homeland, but the country seemed able to keep them at bay. Antisemitism periodically flared up around the world, but it didn’t dominate the headlines or take over college campuses.
But on that fateful day, the world became a different place for many Jews. Hamas attacked Israel in a pre-dawn raid, killing more than 1,100 people and taking hundreds hostage into Gaza, where more than 90 remain. In the ensuing war, more than 40,000 have been killed in Gaza, according to the Hamas-run territory’s health ministry. And over the past few weeks, Israeli troops have begun crossing into Lebanon, hoping to make the border safe enough for thousands of displaced Israelis to return home after a year of rocket barrages from Hezbollah, the Iranian-backed militant group.
Oct. 7 was a catastrophic day of acute sadness, helplessness and stomach-churning fury among Jews around the world. It unleashed antisemitism that many hoped would never resurface and caused some to question who their true friends were.
“Having visited concentration camps when I was in high school 26 years ago, it was hard to comprehend that decades later Jews would still be under attack, not only from enemies in the Middle East but also from Americans and students at college campuses,” said Sandra Veszi Einhorn, 43, a grandchild of Holocaust survivors who lives in Hollywood. “It’s been a struggle as an American Jew to see the lack of allies, especially given Jews’ support of other minorities throughout history.”
Einhorn’s thoughts are in sync with those of many American Jews. In a survey this year by the American Jewish Committee, 87% said antisemitism has increased in the United States since Oct. 7. At the same time, 57% say they feel more connected to Israel or their Jewish identity than they did before the fateful day.
This rediscovered connection is the story of the four people profiled below. Each was deeply affected by the news on Oct. 7 and decided it was time to make a dramatic change. Whether it was transforming their careers or learning to speak out for Israel’s right to exist, all say it was a day of reassessment, and their lives as Jews are forever altered.
Rabbi Laila Haas: Pivot to the pulpit
Rabbi Laila Haas was working as an educator and administrator at CAJE, or the Center for the Advancement of Jewish Education, in Miami on Oct. 7. Watching the massacre in real time on television, she became despondent.
She felt desperate to return to Israel, which she had visited more than a dozen times previously. She made it there six weeks later, and the trip transformed her: Haas became determined to return to the pulpit as a leader of a congregation.
“We visited hospitals, injured soldiers, cemeteries and houses of mourning,” recalled the rabbi, 39. “It reminded me how much I missed those moments of connecting deeply with people, to be with them in their turning-point moments.”
She held the hand of a parent whose soldier son had just died. She sat with a mother whose husband was killed during reserve duty.
“So many people were being buried,” she said. “I started to yearn to have that sacred opportunity again to be there for people’s moments of deep pain and sadness, and also the times of resilience and strength and hope.”
She had served as a pulpit rabbi in Birmingham, Ala., for seven years before taking the Miami job. Her yearning to return to a synagogue position was soon fulfilled, a month after her return from Israel. Temple Beth El in Boca Raton invited her to apply for their opening for a pulpit rabbi.
Haas, whose father, Steven Haas, was the longtime cantor at Temple Beth Sholom in Miami Beach, felt “a divine ear was listening” to her readiness to make a life shift. She started the job at Beth El in June.
Now, she works with religious school students to develop their love for Israel, teaches Torah and other holy books to congregants, and gets to know them through births, weddings, illnesses and deaths.
She and a congregant have designed an Oct. 7 installation in the synagogue lobby, called the Home of Healing and Reflection, that invites visitors to find solace through a smooth and colorful rock garden, comforting blankets and handwritten messages to be placed in Jerusalem’s Western Wall.
“We’re all still hurt and trying to make sense of the world and what has happened to us,” she said.
Rachel Weiner: A love for the land, written into the bylaws
As many turned against Israel after Oct. 7 and antisemitism surged, Rachel Weiner and fellow synagogue members brainstormed a transformation of Congregation B’nai Israel in Boca Raton.
A member of a parents’ group at the Reform congregation, Weiner voiced her concern that the synagogue’s schools and other groups needed to prioritize support for Israel and incorporate this foundation into every aspect of temple life. That meant classes, speakers, school programming, trips, even Sisterhood and Brotherhood clubs should be developing ways to champion the country.
“Before Oct. 7, there was not much of a concrete connection,” said Weiner, 41, a Delray Beach resident. “It was more of an inherent connection, not a solid connection.”
Weiner doesn’t have any relatives in Israel but developed a deep attachment after a trip on Birthright, a free Israel visit for young people, in 2008. As she watched the news on Oct. 7, she sobbed.
“The sheer brutality of what happened struck home with me,” said Weiner, a mother of three. “The babies that were murdered, the old women, kids that were just going to a music festival. Any of those could have been me or my kids.”
She and fellow congregants encouraged the temple to make Israel programming a long-term obligation. Now, support of Israel is a permanent auxiliary program, written into the congregation’s bylaws.
Julie Marx: Retiree/filmmaker
Julie Marx was not a filmmaker. But Oct. 7 compelled her to find a way to express her despair.
The Delray Beach resident began to compile film clips of Israel before, during and after the attack and called the Apple support desk to teach her how to make an iMovie.
“I never made a movie in my entire life,” said Marx, 65, a North Miami Beach native and retired massage therapist.
She spent about nine months creating the film, which is less than 20 minutes long. It’s been accepted into the Boca Raton International Jewish Film Festival and will be shown in public this winter.
“I care very much about Israel and the Jewish people,” said Marx, who describes herself as not religiously observant. “It was like an attack on my family, on me, on our way of life.”
The film, “Israel Is Really Real,” is divided into five parts: Life in Israel before Oct. 7; the Supernova music festival, site of a massacre that day that killed more than 300; the attack that proceeded throughout the morning; the response of the Israel Defense Forces and the Israeli people; and an ending, called “Hope for the Future,” when “Israel will be able to exist and flourish,” Marx said.
Marx, who has volunteered for years with the Human Trafficking Coalition of the Palm Beaches, said the experience of making the film has reshaped her life.
“I feel more like an activist now,” she said. “My obligation is to help in my own little way.”
Nir Lerman: An obligation to speak
Nir Lerman’s cousins were taken hostage on Oct. 7 from their kibbutz in Israel. A single thought plagued him over and over: “What are we going to do?”
“We woke up to a disaster,” said Lerman, 41, a Cooper City resident who moved to South Florida from Israel 12 years ago. “You’re part of the statistics. It’s a game-changer.”
He and some friends set up a warehouse for South Floridians to send clothing, backpacks and medical supplies to Israel. He began speaking with government officials and making flyers about the hostages. He spoke to the media to make sure everyone knew about their plight and his personal connection to his kidnapped relatives, Raya Rotem, who is his mother’s first cousin, and her daughter, Hila, 13.
They were released in November. But his work continues. Packages of food, clothing, toiletries and postcards are still mailed out regularly, most recently sent to Israeli soldiers in honor of Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year.
Lerman, a vice president at Israel Discount Bank, said he has become hyper-aware that an attack on Jews anywhere in the world can come at any time.
“Oct. 7 was a sign to me to be more of an activist against antisemitism, hate and violence,” said Lerman, a father of two. “I’m asking every Jew and everyone I talk to, ‘What are you planning to do if it happens to you?’ ”
