By Leah Garber
There is nothing more comforting, heart-expanding, and hopeful than good news. Today is such a day. 52-year-old Qaid Farhan Alkadi, a father of 11 from the Bedouin village of Rahat was kidnapped on October 7 while at work as a security guard at a kibbutz packing plant. Today, 326 days later, IDF soldiers rescued him alive, where he was being held alone in the Gaza Strip, in a complex military operation.
The fact that Qaid is Muslim and speaks Arabic did not matter to the terrorists. The cruelty of Hamas terrorists is directed against humanity. They treated him as they treated all other hostages, Israeli and non-Israeli alike.
But today, the small village of Rahat in southern Israel is celebrating. Eleven children will get their dad back, they get to hug him once again and shed the heavy burden of fear, worry, and sorrow. Dear Qaid, welcome home. We’ve been waiting for you, and we’re extremely thrilled and relived to see you here!
Jewish tradition provides a framework to channel and express grief over the loss of a loved one, from the moment of receiving the painful news of death through the funeral, including the first week of mourning, called the “Shiva”, the first month of mourning, called “Shloshim”, and through the end of the first year of mourning, called “Shnat Ha-Evel.” This framework includes customs aimed at defining mourning boundaries, framing rituals in a sensitive timeline, and guiding mourners through this painful period with perspective. These customs offer direction as to what is considered inappropriate, like participating in joyful, festive events, versus what is customary to do, such as acts of kindness, giving charity, and reciting the “Kaddish”, the Jewish mourners’ prayer, in honor of the deceased loved one for 11 or 12 months.
This week we mark the most painful, still bleeding 11 months since that black Sabbath (according to the Hebrew date).
Carrying knives sharpened with endless cruelty, Hamas terrorists stabbed our nation’s heart, exploding a crater of sorrow, bereavement, trauma, and sadness. For 11 months now, the entire nation has been bleeding, rivers of blood have been shed, and a sea of tears has been cried. It is now 11 months later that these tears fill the cemeteries again. Families and friends of victims of October 7th and the war in Gaza completed the 11-month grief period and visited their loved one’s graves, refusing to believe it’s been 11 months since their lives were changed beyond recognition, since their loved ones were slaughtered, and nearly 2,000 human lives were stolen by bloodthirsty murderers. Eleven months where every day, in hundreds of synagogues, the Kaddish prayer was recited from broken hearts and weeping souls. Parents over their children, children over their parents, an entire nation weeping over the best of its people.
But unfortunately, Israel’s soil, which welcomed victims of hatred and evil with love, does not rest for a moment. New graves are dug daily, while the earth cries out for a break, begging us to let her rest, to comfort those embedded in it. The quota of suffering of the good soil has been filled, it can no longer bear wrapping the dead.
“I lived a wonderful life, with no regrets. With the most amazing family and partner. I love you all so much and I’m sorry if I caused you pain. I did what I needed to do, including this military duty service out of great love for our strange country. If I succeeded in my mission, and as a result sacrificed a human life by dying—I do not regret anything, I succeeded and failed in my mission at the same time. Mom and Dad, I thank you for everything—for what you have done for me throughout my life. Shalev and Tohar (his siblings)—go on and be successful in your life. Don’t forget that I will look down at you from above. My Dubi (his girlfriend Shiri’s nickname), first and foremost, I want to thank you for teaching me what first love means, and for a time that I will cherish forever. Thank you for the many special moments and memories, love you forever. Mom, I ask that you hold the funeral without tearful and moving speeches—don’t embarrass me, love you forever and will guard you forever from above.” – Ori Ashkenazi Nehemiah z”l
Sergeant Ori Ashkenazi Nehemiah was killed earlier this week in Gaza. He left behind this chilling letter, knowing that the mission he was going on could be his last, one from which he would likely not return, yet nevertheless, he went without hesitation, like many others, out of love and devotion to his homeland.
36-year-old Major Shlomo Yehonatan Hazut, was killed too this weekend in Gaza. Shlomo left behind his pregnant wife Malky, and a two-year-old daughter. At his funeral Malky cried: “I already miss your laughter and your playful smile, your wise advice and our time spent together. My love, you are the most special person that I got to know—loved by everyone.”
Seven soldiers were killed this weekend in fighting. Seven families who joined the growing, endless Israeli bereaved family. They arrive at the cemeteries, slowly becoming familiar with this new landscape that overnight became their second home, a place they will visit from time to time, when their tears and sorrow will overflow, and their hand will beg to caress the grave of their loved one. These hesitant families, new to the world of mourning now join the bereaved families who have completed 11 months of mourning who will forever grieve, by the sad paths of cemeteries, among flowers watered with tears, and butterflies floating on the waves of sadness. Side by side they walk silently. The new bereaved families alongside the veterans. Red eyes not yet used to tears flowing continuously gaze at the eyes that have been crying for 11 months. Sad threads drawn from the hearts, tying themselves to all other threads, bond forever.
326 sleepless days and nights have passed, and the war continues to claim victims. How is it possible that after 326 days, 108 of us are still besieged, captured, beaten and tortured, barely alive, and hidden in the terror tunnels in Gaza?
It is unthinkable that for 326 days half of our country is evacuated, burned, bombed, and shelled every day.
And how heartbreaking it is to hear my tiny granddaughter, Maya, not yet two years old, pretending to have a phone call with her dad, Ori, who is fighting in Gaza, again, for another long reserve duty period, and saying: “Abba, come home.”
Every night as I lay down in bed, I say a prayer for the safety of the hostages, for their immediate return home, and for the safety of our Ori and all the rest of Israel’s courageous soldiers like the ones rescuing Qaid while risking their lives. How many more nights will pass in which I will repeat the same prayer? I am tired of counting, I am desperate, but I will never lose hope, because we have no choice, because we have no other land. Even if it is saturated with sadness, nevertheless, the sun will rise again. After all, today it shines brightly in Rahat, at the home of Qaid Farhan Alkadi and his family.
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.
Reader Interactions