I was overseas when the decades-long Israeli-Palestinian conflict erupted into a brutal October wave. Each morning, away from my community in Seattle, I awoke hours before my family to scroll through an avalanche of social media. Post after post of opinions, rage, graphic images, and downright horror. Information was moving torrentially and shared with similar speed, third-party posters having no time to look into the validity, sources, or evidence of what they were sharing. Major news outlets were moving too fast and making huge errors in the process, and journalists covering disinformation, such as Shayan Sardarizadeh for the BBC, have since been doing the rounds on viral posts containing false claims, conspiracy theories, and hateful content about the war.

As Jews enter the first of the high holidays of Judaism, Rosh Hashanah, many prepare for the 10 Days of Repentance, or, Asseret Yemei HaTeshuvah. During these 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Jews reflect, atone, and practice teshuvah.

“The Hebrew term teshuva is a derivation of the Hebrew root for returning,” writes Samuel J. Levine, “highlighting the purpose and dynamics of a process through which humans are able to renounce and repair the improper actions that have led them astray, thereby returning to God and to their own true selves.”

Teshuvah is a comprehensive practice, not a general or vague quest for forgiveness from another. While I have certainly received a phone call in my past consisting of, “Hey, if I happened to harm you this past year, sorry about it!”, teshuvah is actually a full process of accountability. It calls for responsibility and commitment to change. To me, it is the work of transformative justice.

I am walking toward the tall wall of seemingly endless rows of barbed wire. I see each step of mine, the foot of a child, exposed, frail and swollen. My fingers graze the fence as I begin a frantic climb. Advancing upward, my hands are shaking as each new grasp cuts abrasions into my skin, widening and deepening with each fresh slice. My head gets light, and blood drips from my palms as I clamp down to muffle screams of pain. I hear shouting in the direction of the guard tower, followed by a gunshot. Then, another. My body freezes, my muscles are shocked. As I fall, everything turns black. Abruptly, I wake up. This is always where I wake up.

Today is International Holocaust Remembrance Day, memorialized as such by the United Nations General Assembly in 2005, approximately 24 years after I was born. Before 2005, I remembered the Holocaust in the ways many other Jews of my generation have; from recurring childhood dreams, to the shaking tattooed arms of elders, and comprehensive Hebrew school history lessons. Genocide was nothing one forgot — it was in your bones, in your body, and in your blood.