Every name belongs to someone still loved. Today, 22 Tishrei, marks the Hebrew-calendar anniversary of October 7. We remember those murdered in the Hamas-led attacks, and the families who have carried their absence through every day since. For the rest of the world, remembrance may arrive with a date. For a family, it can arrive while setting the table. While hearing a familiar song. While reaching for the phone to tell someone something, before remembering. Each person we mourn had a life larger than the terrible circumstances of their death. A voice. Habits. People they loved. A future they had every right to expect. Honoring them means making room for those lives in our memory. Learning their names. Listening when their families tell us who they were. Remembering the ordinary details that made each of them irreplaceable. In Jewish remembrance, we say: יהי זכרם ברוך May their memory be a blessing. Today, I hear those words as a responsibility for those of us who remain: to carry something of their goodness forward, to care for the people they loved, and to keep showing up after the anniversary passes. To the families: you owe us no lesson in resilience. You do not have to turn your grief into something that makes the rest of us feel better. There is room among us for your tears, your anger, your silence, and whatever moments of joy you are able to welcome. We cannot know the full weight of your absence. We can listen. We can speak your loved ones’ names with care. We can remember with you. On a date bound to celebration in our calendar, we must also make room for those whose hearts are elsewhere. May the memory of those murdered remain a blessing. May their families find companionship that asks nothing of them, and comfort that comes without a deadline. May we be worthy of the trust it takes to share a memory. And may no family have to carry that memory alone. ✡️

La mujer de Dembelé no puede ni mostrar sus manos. Que horror son los musulmanes