Who am I? That question pops up in our minds countless times, even more so during our teenage years. As a teen, I've been told many times that I have a severe addiction to my phone, that it's an extension of my handāor so I'm told.They tell me that it seems that I cannot leave it anywhere; it needs to stay with me no matter where I am. If you had asked me why a year ago, I would have said that when I turn off my phoneāto go to sleep, take a test, or just because I'm having fun with friendsāmy worst worry is that my parents will text me something time-sensitive, or a BBYO message will pop up and I won't be part of the decision process. 51 weeks since October 7th is what separates that teen from who I am today: a 16-year-old doing Madrijim training to a 17-year-old Madrija.
51 weeks. Now, as a Madrija, I left my phone for 3 hours and 30 minutes, only to find a map full of red points on a map of Israel. My mind starts racing as if thereās an Olympic gold medal on the line. Instagram is the first app I open, and my stories are flooded with posts, each one more terrifying than the last. My heart isnāt racing for a medalāitās racing for its life. No image, text, or opinion seems to satisfy my need for information. It feels like Iām fighting a losing battle, alone, and my enemy is inches from crossing the finish line. I pause. I am a 17-year-old girl from Argentina. Why is something happening over 24 hours away by plane making my heart beat so fast? Why am I missing an important moment to write this article? I pause again. There is no longer a raceāitās just me and my phone on the bus.
Iām on the bus, and I canāt seem to celebrate winning, finishing a four-year process, or being with my friends. Reading everything about Israel is the only thing I want to doānothing else. I search for new sources one by one, then scroll through message app groups, and finally, I call a friend who now lives in Washington, D.C. Heās surely read the news I havenāt yet seen.
I call him; he hasnāt seen everything, and I decide that maybe the race needs to stop. We talk about life, our plans, and Rosh Hashanah. Our call ends, and Iām back to see whatās happening. I decided to post something again. Why am I so concerned about this?
As a Jew who lives in Argentina, but even more as a person, I cannot seem to fathom that this is reality. That Israel just suffered the largest ballistic missile attack in history, that there was a terrorist attack in Jaffa, and that I am watching this unfold. A year ago, as I was writing my most important piece, I said this would be part of a history book like the ones I was raised onāthe ones where my grandad heard about Israelās Independence, where he lived through the Six-Day War, where my dad remembers where he was the day of the AMIA bombing. I know where I was on October 7th and where I was on October 1st. 51 weeks later, still scared, but instead of feeling powerless, I feel powerful. Not because I am older, but because after 51 weeks of living, asking to bring them home, I believe more than ever that we will live; I believe in the power of tomorrow.
Gal is a BBG living in Buenos Aires, Argentina who is in love with outer space.
All views expressed on content written for The Shofar represent the opinions and thoughts of the individual authors. The author biography represents the author at the time in which they were in BBYO.