My identity is a complex knit blanket, woven from many different cultures, languages and nationalities. I was born to an Israeli father, and an American mother, and I have lived in Mexico City my entire life. Growing up far from my roots has proven to be difficult. I only see my family that doesn’t live in Mexico once a year, for a month in the kibbutz my father grew up in. This kibbutz has been my second home for as long as I can remember. It’s the best feeling when I can walk from the house to the pool wearing nothing but a bikini and a towel, taking a walk at night with my cousins to go visit the cows, all of us wearing pajamas, and bumping into everyone I know. Kids in strollers, cribs, running around, hanging from their parents. Grabbing ice cream and treats as I pick up my youngest cousins from kindergarten. The way that I can walk into any house, whenever, because the door is literally always open, and people are always happy to host. This is the home I long for.

My heart aches acutely at the thought of those massacred and taken, taken from their homes, from the kibbutz they live in. I am still trying to process what has been going on for the past couple of weeks. Children beheaded? Women raped? Men, women, children, soldiers, grandmothers, grandfathers, babies, all kidnapped? Slaughtered? At home? At a music festival? And here, in Mexico City, in the so-called safety of my own school, I would never in my wildest dreams have imagined the comments people have tossed at me, and what it feels like to open my notebook to a page covered in a Swastika. I never would have thought people were still capable of this level of hatred. Pure hatred.

My heart goes out to every person who has lost a loved one in these past couple of weeks, and to everyone who has been taken, or killed. It hasn’t been easy to deal with. Over half of my family is in Israel. My uncle is a pilot in the army, and most of my cousins are between the ages of 18 -21 years old, meaning they are currently soldiers. My two aunts, and six of my cousins (ages 17 and under) managed to exit Israel: whether it be to Greece, Barcelona, or Portugal. They have been able to exit Israel, and left in order for my youngest cousins to grow up as trauma-free as possible, without sirens, where they are “safe”. With antisemitism on the rise, are any of us really “safe”?

I am still trying to grasp the fact that one of my cousins was at the music festival, went into shock, and two days later was serving in the army. I am still trying to grasp that my grandparents are protecting the kibbutz that is my second home, and people on the kibbutz are walking around armed. Doors are starting to get locked. I wonder if it will ever be the same again.

Living in Mexico, and attending a non-religious school has helped me embrace the way so many cultures and people can coexist, and find strength and relationships through their differences. I immediately felt more drawn to the Jewish community recently, fortifying my relationships with my Jewish friends, who can maybe understand what I’m going through more in-depth, as well as immersing myself more deeply into the community. The reality is, I don’t think anyone can truly understand what I’m going through. We all have our own story. I, however, greatly appreciate the people who have shown support; held me, hugged me, made me laugh, and checked in on me throughout these weeks.

How is this real? Israel has been my safest home for as long as I can remember. The place where I can go out for a walk whenever, without feeling scared, without feeling intimidated, and never feeling alone. I wonder if it will ever feel the same way again. I long for the day when we will feel safe again. I feel so tremendously helpless, and I don’t know what to do next. I’m sending the biggest hug to anyone who is suffering from this terror. I’m sending the biggest hug to the homeland I love from afar… The homeland that will never back down, will never be brought down, and will never surrender. We will never surrender.