By Leah Garber
Dry desert winds carrying dust and sand perfectly mirror Israel’s spirit these days as Pesach preparations unfold. The ritual spring cleaning, pots steaming with traditional delicacies, and tables adorned for celebration seem to hide behind veils of airborne dust. We all temper our holiday joy, burdened by the knowledge that for 59 hostages—24 still believed to be alive—this marks a second Pesach in captivity. A second Pesach where families gather around tables with painful absences. A second Pesach where many leave a chair empty, its vacancy crying out in anguish, dimming the celebration’s glow, silently pleading: “Bring us home.”
Testimonies from recently returned hostages are emerging, deepening our anguish for those still held. Learning that they are enduring such profound hunger that they count each chickpea, ration every sip of cloudy water, calculate movements to preserve energy, and subsist on tasteless pita from one uncertain day to the next—envelops our souls. We can try to understand the depth of their suffering because those fortunate enough to have returned experienced these same hellish conditions and feel compelled to voice the hunger of those forgotten in captivity, to bear witness to true deprivation.
Though profoundly difficult, we must hear accounts of daily torment: perpetual shackling in iron chains, confinement in airless tunnels, psychological terror, despair, anxiety, physical agony, illness, and unquenchable longing. The reality that these hostages—who might have been any one of us—continue to endure such suffering defines our national consciousness. This awareness clings to every breath we take, accompanies every meal we eat, follows us through every warm shower, and slips beneath our blankets nightly, a constant reminder of our brothers’ and sisters’ plight and our sacred duty to bring them home now.
Think about Gali and Ziv Berman, twins from Kibbutz Kfar Aza, kidnapped from the kibbutz’s “Young Generation” neighborhood. Until October 7, the community echoed with laughter and vitality, sounds transformed into cries of unimaginable anguish in an instant on that black morning. The “Young Generation” district housed the kibbutz’s future, its promise and continuity.
Two weeks ago, in a visit to the kibbutz with a group of JCC executives we witnessed what remains of Gali and Ziv’s home—devastating ruins, life’s remnants, one shattered dwelling among many on streets rendered unrecognizable, blackened and charred, silently testifying to that black Sabbath’s horrors.
Envision the holiday table in the Berman home. How can the twins’ parents, Talia and Doron, observe the festival knowing their sons remain captive, separated from each other, missing a second Pesach in their family’s embrace? Eighteen months of unrelenting torment.
Alon Ohel was taken from the Nova Music Festival with Hersh Goldberg-Polin and two others and then from the now infamous shelter where dozens sought refuge as they fled for their lives—and where 16 young souls perished. Alon, a gifted pianist, is symbolized worldwide by the “yellow piano” that represents the stark contrast between the beautiful melodies his fingers once created and the terrible silence that has now enveloped him for 551 days.
Wounded by shrapnel in his eye and elsewhere during his abduction, Alon faces grave danger according to fellow captives who have returned. These survivors report he likely lost sight in one eye and his life is at risk. Alon was held captive with others who were released before him. The cruelty of being forced to watch those who shared his suffering, who strengthened and sustained him, depart while he remained behind defies comprehension. To witness liberation yet remain in darkness—what despair must fill his heart.
A reflection on Pesach’s eve should radiate joy and optimism, describing Israel’s holiday atmosphere: flower shops bursting with spring bouquets, clothing stores displaying festive white garments, markets overflowing with holiday abundance. Forgive me for departing from tradition, but I find it impossible to embrace the joy of holiday preparations when my heart weighs so heavily, knowing that for so many, this holy day marks another day of captivity, another eternally nightmarish day.
Looking at photographs of Alon, Gali, Ziv, and the other 56 hostages in happier times, imagining their current reality, proves unbearable.
Pesach bears many names—among them, the Spring Festival that heralds renewal and blossoming and the Festival of Freedom that commemorates our ancestors’ redemption from four centuries of Egyptian bondage. Their exodus from slavery to freedom culminated in the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai and our people’s transformation into a nation.
Will the holiday’s spirit herald our hostages’ exodus from enslavement to freedom? Will songbirds—filling mornings with enchanting melodies—and blossoming spring flowers welcome those returning from darkness to light? Will redemption’s miracle repeat itself, bringing our tormented loved ones home?
In the days to come, millions of Jews worldwide will gather around festive tables, carrying in their hearts the image of Alon’s pleading green eyes. As we sing “Dayenu” | “It Would Have Been Enough,” our heavy, exhausted hearts will silently plead: Enough.
And then we will smile, as we think of Emily, Lee, Omer, Tal, Eli-Yah, Sasha, Eli, Arbel, Liri, Naama, Agam, and others recently returned. We will celebrate the miracle of their homecoming and find solace knowing that this Pesach, unlike last year, they will be embraced by light, joy, and family love.
Through illuminated holiday windows, we will watch desert dust particles dance on the wind, reminding us that though the air remains clouded, fragments of light penetrate the darkness. It will shine again, fully radiant—hopefully soon, very soon—because dayenu. It is enough.
Chag sameach. Wishing us all a happy and sweet Pesach.
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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