By Leah Garber
The euphoria of the return of 20 living hostages still hovers over us—along with the joyful videos of their reunions with family, images an entire nation yearned so desperately to see. These images paint the grayness of the past 748 days in bright colors. At the same time, the 13 deceased hostages who remain held by Hamas cast a deep shadow over our national mood. In a blatant violation of the signed agreement, Hamas returns the bodies of the fallen at its own pace, in irregular intervals, constantly subjecting their families to a dizzying emotional roller coaster that swings unendingly between hope and despair.
This week, Tal Haimi, a member of Kibbutz Nir Yitzhak’s emergency response team, was brought home. Tal fought bravely against the terrorists, but his bright blue eyes and kind smile were extinguished when he fell in battle, and his body was taken to Gaza. His wife, Ella, gave birth to their fourth child alone, without Tal by her side, their innocent child born fatherless into a world in which cruelty lurks close to home. In her eulogy, Ella said:
“There’s one child you didn’t get to meet, but he already knows you so well. I played him a recording of you saying ‘Daddy’ and laughing—I hope you managed to hear it. In no scenario did I imagine I would give birth and raise a baby without you, but then I look at him and everything becomes more possible. These children are your greatest achievement; each one has taken something from you in their own way. They are so proud of you, but they miss you so much.”
Arye Zalmanovich also returned to eternal rest in his beloved home, Kibbutz Nir Oz. Arye was abducted alive, captured on video—injured and beaten—and taken to Gaza on the back of a motorcycle. The chilling images document a moment of terror: Arye with a bandage covering the wound on his head, blood dripping onto his beard, his frightened eyes looking out, his frail hands gripping the back of his captor, holding on as if he had no other hope. Arye died under horrific conditions in captivity, after 40 days of terrible suffering. The IDF estimates he was killed in captivity on November 17, 2023. Zalmanovich was 85 years old. Hamas—dripping with hatred and devoid of mercy—kidnapped an elderly man and murdered him.
The body of Tamir Adar, a son of the same kibbutz, was also returned this week. Tamir was abducted along with his 85-year-old grandmother, Yafa Adar. She was released in the November 2023 hostage deal, while Tamir’s fate remained unknown. Only after about three months did his family learn that, based on various evidence, Tamir was not among the living. On October 7, during the battle, knowing the terrorists were going house to house, Tamir sent a text message to his wife, Hadas: “Don’t open the door for anyone, even if it’s me asking you to open it.” Two orphans, members of the third generation at Kibbutz Nir Oz, now join the line of the kibbutz’s bereaved children. Forever, they will visit their father at the nearby cemetery instead of playing soccer with him and nestling in his loving arms.
A ceasefire has supposedly been declared, but the reality of making a deal with the devil is far different. From time to time, Hamas violates the ceasefire and fires at IDF soldiers. Earlier this week, two soldiers were killed by terrorist fire. Both were from my city, Modi’in, which has paid an especially heavy price in this terrible war.
Although the world forgets the horrors and, in endless hypocrisy, continues to protest Israel even after the ceasefire—ignoring the daily killings carried out by Hamas terrorists against their own people in the streets of Gaza—we will never forget, and we will never stop speaking the truth.
When I’m asked how I feel and what the mood is in Israel, I admit that the joy over the return of the 20 living hostages on erev Simchat Torah, as powerful as it is, is tempered by hearing of the terrible suffering those hostages endured—the hunger, the physical and mental torture, being bound in iron chains in the dark tunnels throughout their captivity. The joy is tempered by remembering the 917 soldiers who paid with their lives. It’s tempered by knowing that thousands were wounded. It’s tempered by the haunting question of whether we could have reached the same agreement a year ago and saved more hostages, sparing them cruel captivity. The joy is tempered by the heavy fear for the safety of our sons still in Gaza as they try to maintain the ceasefire while risking their lives, and by the knowledge that for the families of the deceased hostages still held captive, the war will not end until the last loved one returns to Israeli soil. It won’t end for any of us, as we all share this pain.
Nothing has really changed here—the clock in Hostages Square has been counting the minutes since the morning of October 7, 2023, at 6:29 a.m., and continues to mark the time that has passed. The hostage symbols have not been removed from our clothes, and the yellow ribbons and other markers have become like a second skin for so many of us.
This week, Netanyahu’s government passed a law changing the war’s official name from the “Iron Swords War,” or, as most of us call it, the “October 7th War” to the “War of Redemption.” Many are outraged by this name change and see it as a clear attempt to reshape our collective consciousness. How can we call these two years “redemption” when on October 7, we were brutally attacked, and our people were abandoned? When Israeli intelligence, known for its excellence, failed? When hundreds of thousands became refugees in their own country? When it took two years for the living hostages to be returned and the deceased still await their turn? Where is redemption when politicians repeat empty slogans of unity while demonstrating exactly the opposite, when their embarrassing politics trouble the nation, divide it, and fuel conflict, hatred, and confrontation?
Against the backdrop of our soldiers’ heroism and the resilience of our people—a rare and exceptional people worthy of true redemption—I struggle to see redemption in the two years that have passed. Our time for redemption has not yet come. The wounds must first be healed, lives rebuilt, the 13 remaining hostages brought home for burial, light restored to Israel’s skies, and our people given a true promise of a new beginning in which we will feel genuinely united. Then will come redemption. Only then.
And until then, we have adopted a new custom: flag processions that stretch for many miles. In sorrow and pain, we accompany the fallen soldiers and the coffins of deceased hostages returning home on their final journey. And in contrast, embracing joy, we welcome home the living hostages who have emerged from darkness into light. Such was the reception for Avinatan Or, Noa Argamani’s partner, who was kidnapped with her from the Nova Music Festival, and whose first embrace after 738 days became a symbol of love that conquers all. I invite you to witness the deeply moving welcome in Avinatan’s community.
In my previous post, I ended with the hope that it would be my last war update. Sadly, until the last hostage returns home, we cannot truly celebrate with full hearts, since the life and death of each person is an entire world.
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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