Manfred Levy, 69, is a familiar figure in Frankfurt’s Jewish community. He has dedicated much of his life to promoting understanding and dialogue between Jews and Muslims, wearing a necklace with a Star of David and a silver hamsa, symbols revered by both faiths. As a museum educator at the Jewish Museum in Frankfurt, Levy has spent years leading workshops, educating schoolchildren and teachers, and engaging in conversations that highlight the similarities between Judaism and Islam. His work has often taken him into mosques, where he’s collaborated with Muslim associations to build bridges of understanding.

Yet, since the brutal Hamas terrorist attack on October 7, Levy’s perspective has shifted dramatically. The events of that day have shaken him to his core, and he finds it difficult, if not impossible, to engage with the other side as he once did. "I can’t do it right now," Levy admits, reflecting on how the violence has affected his ability to see the situation from multiple angles. For years, he was able to consider the complexities of the conflict, even understanding, albeit reluctantly, why rockets were fired from Gaza at Israel. But in the aftermath of the recent terrorist attacks, the empathy and openness that once guided his work have been overshadowed by grief, anger, and confusion.

Levy’s connection to Israel is deeply personal. His family’s survival and eventual return to Germany after World War II are inextricably linked to the existence of the Jewish state. Levy often shared this story with students, explaining how, without Israel, his parents would have been killed in the Holocaust. "Without Israel, I would never have been born. My parents would have been gassed," he has said during lectures. For Levy, Israel is not just a political entity—it is a lifeline that allowed him and his family to survive when so many others perished.

In the past, Levy’s encounters with students from all backgrounds were opportunities for meaningful dialogue. He recalls a particularly poignant moment when a schoolgirl shared how her uncle was shot by Israeli forces. Levy listened intently, then shared his own family’s story of fleeing Nazi Germany and finding refuge in Israel. These conversations were painful but necessary, and he always believed in the importance of understanding different perspectives, no matter how difficult the subject matter. However, since October 7, Levy has found it nearly impossible to engage in such dialogues. His heart is heavy with grief, and his mind is clouded by the horrors he has witnessed. He recently turned down an invitation to speak at a school about the current situation in Israel, saying he simply isn’t able to have those conversations right now.

The sense of unease extends beyond his personal experiences. The Jewish Museum, where Levy has worked for many years, has increased security measures following the attacks. The fear of further violence is palpable, and the Jewish community in Frankfurt has been working closely with police to ensure the safety of its members. Levy reflects on how, in his past as a teacher in a "hotspot neighborhood," he dealt with hateful incidents and slurs directed at him and his students. From the swastika graffiti on a school fence to the insults of "Jew" hurled at students, Levy has long been accustomed to anti-Semitic hostility. But the events of October 7 have added a new layer of fear and uncertainty to his life, one that makes it difficult to continue the work he has devoted so many years to.

For Levy, the most striking change has been the absence of a simple question: "How are you doing?" In the midst of the ongoing violence and tension, he is struck by how few people are willing to ask him this basic question. It’s a small gesture, but one that carries significant weight. Levy wonders if people are afraid of the answer, as if acknowledging his pain would make the reality of the situation too difficult to face. "You wouldn’t need much more than that," he muses. "Just ask how I’m doing, and then listen."

Levy’s internal struggle is not just one of personal pain—it’s a reflection of the larger, deepening divide that has emerged in society. The events of October 7 have made it clear that the ability to see both sides of the conflict is no longer as simple as it once was. For Levy, a man who has spent his life building understanding between two cultures, the current situation feels insurmountable. As the violence escalates, so too does the emotional toll it takes on those who have dedicated themselves to promoting peace. For Levy, the work that once felt so important now seems overwhelming, and the question of how to move forward remains painfully unresolved.