How October 7th changed my life: Art, Identity, and the moment everything shifted.

October 7th is a date that split my life into a before and after.

Before, my art was already full of color, movement, intuition, and a quiet thread of spirituality that guided me without demanding to be seen. I was always connected to my Jewish identity, but it lived in the background—woven into values, my childhood, my mother’s wall of hamsas, and my memories from March of the Living in 2013. It was a part of me, but it was never the center of my work.

After October 7th, something inside me cracked open.

It wasn’t a planned decision. It wasn’t a branding choice. It wasn’t even conscious. It was a reaction—a surge of grief, pride, fear, clarity, and the most indescribable need to create from a place of truth. Overnight, my art stopped being just art. It became a prayer. A protest. A shield. A way of keeping my people close when they felt far away and threatened.

It became my voice when I didn’t know how to speak.

Rediscovering My Jewish Identity Through Paint

In the weeks after October 7th, I found myself reaching for colors I’ve always used, but never used in this way. Deep blues, whites, golds, fiery reds—colors that felt ancient and protective. Hebrew letters began appearing in my work and became the foundation.

Verses, words of strength, blessings, names. Symbols I grew up with—hamsas, eyes, the map of Israel—demanded to take center stage.

Every brushstroke felt like it came from my ancestors. Every piece was anchored in a deeper purpose: protection, remembrance, identity, resilience.

When art becomes a Form of Prayer

“Frequency 555”, “Reflections of Hope”, “I Will Fear No Evil”, and the endless sketches, ideas, and half-finished canvases that poured out of me all share one thing: they were created during a season where creating felt sacred.

My studio became my sanctuary. My canvases became my conversations with Hashem. My work transformed into reminders—visual amulets—that we are still here, still creating, still alive.

This wasn’t just about art anymore.

It was survival.

It was legacy.

It was love.

Standing taller, Speaking Louder

Before October 7th, I worried about being “too loud” about being Jewish. After October 7th, silence became impossible.

I became more outspoken. More unapologetic. More rooted. More connected to my grandparents, my mother, my younger self who walked the grounds of Auschwitz and promised never to forget.

This moment in history reshaped my purpose as an artist.

It reshaped my voice as a Jewish woman. It reshaped the direction of my entire creative journey.

The Art I create Now

Everything I make now carried the energy of that shift. It’s still colorful. Still expressive. Still me. But it’s anchored in something deeper: meaning, protection, remembrance, and pride.

My work became Judaica—but modern, fierce, emotional, alive-filled Judaica.

Art with intention. Art with courage. Art that looks directly into the world and says, “We’re still here.”

I stopped making art to fill a wall.

I started making art to fill a soul.

A new purpose, a new path

October 7th didn’t just change my art, it changed me.

It reminded me who I am. It reconnected me to where I come from. It pushed me to honor my identity through the thing I do best—creating.

This gallery is more than a collection of pieces. It’s a timeline of my own awakening.

A reflection of resilience.

A declaration of pride.

A space where spirituality, grief, hope and creativity merge.

This is the art I was meant to make.

This is the voice I was meant to use.

This is the direction I was always meant to grow into—October 7th just lit the match.