11 years after my Gaza Thanksgiving, grasping for gratitude, one letter at a time
‘There is no joy unencumbered by sadness these days.’
Avigail Idan, a dual U.S.-Israeli citizen, turns 4 today — still in captivity. Courtesy of Seats of Hope
By Jodi Rudoren November 24, 2023
On the Thanksgiving I spent in Gaza, there was no turkey. Not just because Palestinians do not celebrate the American holiday. That November Thursday in 2012 dawned a day after a cease-fire between Israel and Gaza’s armed groups took hold to end eight days of fighting that killed about 175 Palestinians and six Israelis. Which seemed like a lot at the time.
Gratitude and celebration abounded across Gaza that day. The outdoor restaurant at the seaside Al Deira Hotel, which had been closed since the war broke out, laid a glorious buffet breakfast. Lionel Richie streamed from the speakers, and I watched people walk on the sand, fishermen out at sea in boats.
The night after that Thanksgiving, we went to the kind of fish place where you pick your dinner from a display of the day’s catch. Proprietor and patrons alike were abuzz about what they called 6-mile fish. As part of the cease-fire, Israel agreed to allow boats to trawl 6 nautical miles from the Gaza shore rather than 3.
I could not tell the difference between the 6-mile fish and the 3-mile fish — they were all a Mediterranean species called denise, which is like sea bream — but for the Gazans I dined with, the denise from the deeper waters tasted like a touch of freedom.
The memory seems quaint now, as we near the seven-week mark of this year’s catastrophic conflagration, which started with Hamas’s wanton murder of 1,200 and kidnapping of 240 in Israel on Oct. 7, and has since cut short the lives of an estimated 13,000 in Gaza. Much of Gaza City, including the neighborhood where I stayed for that 2012 Thanksgiving and on many other trips, has been destroyed by this devastating war. There is little food of any kind in Gaza, never mind fresh fish.
But there is, as of this morning, at least a pause in the fighting, the release of 24 hostages from Gaza and 39 Palestinians from Israeli prisons. A gasp of a breath of relief, practically the first in nearly seven weeks. I am grateful for that, at least.
A year ago, I offered an Alphabet Soup of Thanksgiving, adapting a trick the writer A.J. Jacobs uses to fall asleep each night: Expressing gratitude for a specific thing from A to Z. It is harder amid this year’s pain and anger, but no less necessary, so here goes.
Avigail Idan is not spending her birthday in captivity. I’d planned to start this list with deep thanks that little Avigail, who watched her parents murdered by Hamas terrorists at Kibbutz Kfar Aza on Oct. 7 and then was abducted, would be released today, as she turned 4. Alas, it was not to be.
Seven of the 13 newly freed Israelis do have first or last names that start with A, though: Danielle Aloni and her 5-year-old daughter, Amelia; Adina Moshe, 72, and Yaffa Adar, 85; Doron Katz Asher, 34 and her two daughters, 4-year-old Raz Asher and 2-year-old Aviv Asher. Doron’s mother and Raz and Aviv’s grandmother, Efrat, who is 67, remains in Gaza, a reminder that there is no joy unencumbered by sadness these days.
#bread. That’s a Forward Slack channel where people share pictures of things they have baked. Like the Cranberry Walnut Sourdough that our newly married engagement editor, Jake Wasserman, made for Thanksgiving. The #israelwar channel is a lot more active, of course, but there is also #bread.
Complexity, and all who embrace it. There is so much pressure these days to divide the world into heroes and villains and absorb the news as though keeping score at a basketball game. The complexity is what makes it interesting, understanding it is what makes us human.
Depth. See: complexity.
Everything Bagel Seasoning. At a time like this, you have to be grateful for little things.
Fish. This summer during our family vacation on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, my grown-up nephew caught a 50-pound tuna. We feasted on it for days, and froze some. Yesterday, as part of our pregame appetizers, I crusted the last bit with Everything Bagel seasoning, seared it, and served it atop avocado-wasabi spread on rice crackers.
Gary. That’s the husband. Haven’t paid much attention to him lately. Grateful he gets it.
Hostage release. Grateful for the 12 Thai workers and 13 Israelis released today. May it continue beyond the promised 50, may it include Uriel Baruch and Hersh Goldberg-Polin and every single other captive and may people stop tearing down their posters.
Ice cream. This is a repeat from last year. Probably gonna be here every time.
Journalism. Grateful to have the responsibility and the opportunity to help tell the story of this conflict. Grateful to the brave journalists in Gaza and the intrepid ones everywhere telling us what we need to know about what happened on Oct. 7 and in the days since, bearing witness and holding power to account. Grateful especially to my team of journalists in the Forward newsroom, pushing themselves and supporting each other.
Kaddish. I’ve probably recited the mourner’s prayer more than 1,000 times since my father died on Feb. 7. I’ve said it outside Stalin’s house in Gori, Georgia, and on New Jersey transit. Next week I’ll be saying it in Jerusalem. I’ve had Muslims join in the “Amen.” I’ve learned to wrap my dad’s tefillin. And a whole lot more.
Light. Hanukkah is coming.
Meditation. I am truly terrible at it, but have been trying most Wednesday mornings at a meditative minyan led by Rabbi Elliott Tepperman of Montclair’s Reconstructionist synagogue, Bnai Keshet.
Notes. As in the Notes app. I’m still a Google Doc-devotee, but Notes have a more whimsical, ephemeral quality, and I find myself using them more and more. My notes from months of saying kaddish are in Notes, as are my kids’ birthday wish lists, and menu-planning for my part of yesterday’s feast, and contacts for AP chemistry tutors, and a series of things called To Do.
Orange. Rivaling green these days for my favorite color, especially the very soft rust-orange sweater I got from the online thrift story ThredUp for $10.40.
Prayer. And Rabbi Brent Spodek for showing me how: Wow. (And: Thank you.)
Questions. Another repeat from 2022, but now it’s about the essay I wrote for the new anthology, Jewish Priorities: Sixty-Five Proposals for the Jewish Future. Mine is about the importance of coming to everything from the point of curiosity. It’s never been more important.
Rabbis. Also a repeat, with some new specifics. Rabbi Marc Katz, who deftly led our synagogue community through an antisemitic attack in January, is now joined by Rabbi Julie Roth of Shomrei Emunah, the Conservative shul in Montclair where I daven on Sunday mornings; Rabbis Roly Matalon and Felicia Sol of B’nai Jeshurun in Manhattan, where I regularly Zoom in; and Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz of Temple Emanuel in Newton, Massachusetts, whose vibrant daily minyan has become home away from home when visiting my mom.
Also Rabbi Benji Samuels, who eulogized my dad and continues to guide us through our mourning. Rabbis Elliot Cosgrove and Angela Buchdahl, who have supported me and the Forward in so many ways. And Rabbi Dov Lerner, who died at the end of August, may his memory be a blessing.
Sisters. Cannot imagine going through the past year without mine. Also soup.
Torah study. Specifically the Temple Ner Tamid Saturday morning Zoom group. Also Top Chef, whose reruns I rely on to help me fall asleep.
Understanding. Vivianism. Water.
X. Since Elon Musk bought Twitter and stupidly changed its name among many other dopey decisions, its role in public discourse has diminished. Which makes it much, much easier to ignore.
You, our readers. For responding to our work when it resonates. For criticizing it (mostly) with thoughtfulness and grace. For sharing it with others. For donating to support it. For showing up to engage with it, and with us.
Zebra. The other night I went to see Sabbath’s Theater, a play based on the Philip Roth novel. I didn’t love it; “pretentious” is my one-word review. But there was a lot of incredible acting, and some brilliant writing, including a scene on a subway where two strangers consider whether a rabbi would marry a person to a zebra. A good reminder that there’s always something to be thankful for.
Shabbat Shalom! Thanks to Odeya Rosenband for contributing to this newsletter, and Talya Zax for editing it.
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