By Leah Garber
There are mothers
Who birthed their daughters twice
The first time
They descended from Paradise
The second time
They emerged from Hell
Then, as now,
They waited to hear the cry
That whispers they can
Finally breathe again
– “Iron Diary,” a poem by Rachel Serulovich
For 473 days, Romi, Emily, and Doron were everyone’s daughters. At their births, cradled in their parents’ intimate embrace, they heard their first promises of protection—arms that would stretch boundlessly to shield them from harm, offering endless comfort and security. Their parents could never have imagined such unfathomable evil existed—evil that would breach that promise, penetrating their protective embrace to snatch away three young women, along with 244 other hostages. No one could have foreseen the brutality of October 7.
Since then, all the hostages have become family to an entire nation. We know their names, where they were when Hamas terrorists tore them from life, and the horrific images etched in their eyes. We also came to know the beauty of their lives before that shattering day. We learned how Romi loves leopard prints, inspiring Israeli women to wear such patterns every Wednesday in solidarity with her. We know of her passion for dance, displayed at the Nova Music Festival. We learned that Emily’s favorite color is blue and of her extraordinary courage that resulted in the loss of two fingers as she tried to stop a bullet during her kidnapping. We discovered that Doron, a veterinary nurse, is deeply devoted to animals and her door is always open to neighbors seeking help for their pets. We worried about her health as her life-sustaining medication was withheld from her throughout her captivity.
These three heroines endured 471 days of constant fear and sleepless nights filled with nightmares and despair. On Sunday, they were born again—this time, an entire nation experienced the painful, seemingly endless labor. We collectively held our breath as they passed from their captors to the Red Cross, enduring a hostile mob in Gaza that surrounded and struck their vehicle, until they finally reached the careful embrace of Israeli soldiers who brought them home to breathe, reborn to live again.
The nation anxiously monitored their “delivery” throughout the day—when would the moment of release come? In what condition would we find them? Would they smile? Would they be in shock? Would they be alive? Thousands gathered in Hostages Square in Tel Aviv, watching giant screens broadcasting their release. Thousands more gathered at their homes—friends, family, the people of Israel—wanting to share one long, full breath after 471 days.
These are days of “gam v’gam,” as Rabbi Doron Perez taught us. His soldier son, Daniel, was killed in battle on October 7, and his body was kidnapped and has been held in Gaza ever since.
Sunday was an emotionally overwhelming, complex day. A day of upheaval, and perhaps the most quintessentially Israeli day imaginable. Our delicate fabric of life interweaves threads of sorrow and grief with those of joy. On such a day, the heart yearns to embrace every Israeli we pass on the street, pat them on the shoulder, shed tears together, and share the news—Romi, Emily, and Doron are coming home; it’s happening today! Simultaneously, across that same street we wish to extend a comforting hand to the families of the fallen who will never return, to wrap them in a loving embrace. And still, we find the strength to look into the eyes of the families of the hostages not included in the current deal, promising that we will not rest until the last one returns home. This is how it feels to be Israeli this week. We stretch our arms and open our hearts, to feel the depth of others’ pain, cry for every loss, and rejoice in every piece of good news as if it were about our own, our children, our loved ones, rather than Israelis who, until 473 days ago, were complete strangers.
On Sunday, a day of great joy, 94 families watched the broadcasts, still yearning to embrace their loved ones, the ones who weren’t included among the first 33 hostages. Their families cried out. When will their loved ones’ second birth arrive? And will they emerge alive?
As the three hostages returned home, Israel endured another profound sacrifice in exchange for their freedom—the release of 90 terrorists. Among them were the murderers of St.-Sgt. Tuvia Yanai Weissman, z”l. Yanai was married to my niece, Yael. High school sweethearts, they married young and were new parents to baby Neta in 2016. While shopping with Yael and their four-month-old daughter, Yanai—on brief military leave—heard screams from another part of the supermarket. Without hesitation, he ran to confront knife-wielding terrorists who were attacking customers. Fighting them bare-handed, he diverted their attention from their victim, preventing further bloodshed. In that heroic act, he was fatally wounded.
At his funeral, Yael’s words echoed her love: “I couldn’t stop you from running there. And I don’t regret it. I know that if you hadn’t run there, you wouldn’t have been the Yanai I know, the Yanai I fell in love with.” On Sunday, as his murderer was released, Yael posted three heartbreaking words: “Yanai’chuk, forgive us,” with a broken heart emoji. Their daughter Neta, now 9 years old, faces paralyzing fears: Will this terrorist return to threaten her and her Ima? How does one comfort an innocent child when adults themselves struggle to find peace?
As if Sunday wasn’t already overwhelming enough, the family of soldier Oron Shaul, z”l, bid him a final farewell. Oron was killed in Gaza in 2014, and his body was held there by Hamas until a heroic IDF operation recently recovered it from his captures. Finally, may he rest in peace in the soil of the country he loved so much, as a hero, a son returning home from afar. As one eye wept with joy for Romi, Emily, and Doron’s return, the other mourned those who won’t come back alive and worried for those still waiting in the dark.
The three women, now safe, are only now beginning to learn about the atrocities of the October 7 massacre, discovering which friends they lost, how many lives were taken, getting to know a nation changed forever.
This coming Friday evening, millions of Jews in synagogues across the world will sing “L’cha Dodi”:
Lift yourself up! Arise from the dust!
Put on the clothing of your glory, my people!
Redemption for my soul is approaching.
The following day, on Shabbat afternoon, will bring another set of hostages home. Will the Bibas children be among the ones crossing from hell? Will their mom, Shiri, join them? Will both the nation’s eyes shed tears of happiness? When will we rise from the dust? When will redemption approach?
Together, united, we will overcome.
Leah Garber is a senior vice president of JCC Association of North America and director of its Center for Israel Engagement in Jerusalem.
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