Reflections on this Moment
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THE VOICES OF ISRAELIS
For us, the date is still October 7 because of the hostages. As long as that issue isn’t resolved, we think we are still on October 7, until we get back our friends who have been kidnapped from the kibbutz on October 7. I think it’s a sentiment that is shared widely in the country but not everybody feels it as strongly as people who have a personal connection. I think a lot of people agree, I would even say a majority agree with these two sentiments: that this is a major failure that we have basically lost these two border strips [along the Gaza and Lebanon borders], that it goes against the founding principles of Zionism that we have allowed this to happen. And that, as long as we are waiting for the hostages, we cannot really say we’ve overcome the tragedy and the trauma of October 7.
Excerpted from:
“Amir Tibon, Israeli journalist and Oct. 7 survivor, on life, hope and betrayal after the massacre,” by Ben Sales, JTA, Sept. 6, 2024.
Amir Tibon, a resident of Kibbutz Nahal Oz, is a journalist and the author of The Gates of Gaza, a new book about the history of Kibbutz Nahal Oz and his experience on October 7.
We wake up every morning praying that he too is still waking up every morning. There’s a specific physical pain and fear when a person that you love is suffering and you have no access to them. He is alive, but he is in great danger. Since October 7, there’s not a moment that passes when we’re not thinking about his safety. We’re glued to our phones. Every ping causes a tiny leap of the heart. Is it news about Omer? About the other hostages? Our phones are never switched off. … Not one of those pings has been a message from our beloved son. Being unable to reach him, to speak to him, to comfort him when he needs us the most is a parent’s worst nightmare.
Excerpted from:
Speech delivered at the Republican Jewish Coalition, September 5, 2024.
Ronen and Orna Neutra are the parents of American-Israeli hostage Omer Neutra.
I’ve been watching my inner world crumble for the last year. Politicians I once trusted are suspect. Others whom I once shunned at least merit an honest hearing. I routinely scan and profile everyone I pass on the street looking for knives or odd backpacks or jackets out of season. I cry sometimes at odd times for no reason. Or for good reason.
And death no longer feels like a stranger. I feel anger and outrage and distrust, and this now feels normal.
I dare anyone to come up with a ceremony that puts all that into words. I forbid anyone to push me to that place with the pretense of decorum and a well-placed song. I curse anyone who dares to take advantage of my outrage and anger and pain for some agenda. Any agenda.
Ceremony is impossible. Don’t…just don’t…pretend that we have enough distance from these events to know what they mean. It will take us years, if not decades.
Excerpted from:
“Ceremonies commemorating October 7? It’s way too soon,” Dr. Allen Selis, Times of Israel, Sept. 5, 2024
Dr. Allen Selis is the founder of the educational technology startup STEM Crafters.
I’m angry at myself every morning when I wake up: Angry that I get to wake up to sunlight, breathe fresh air, get a hug from Mom and Dad and walk freely. Such basic things that have been taken from you.
On the third day of the war, I found your notebook. “Everything is only phases that will pass, and in the end, everything will work out for the best. I’m trying to stay positive, optimistic and strong,” you wrote.
And maybe when you wrote that, you knew deep inside that one day I would need to hold on to your words. As if you left me a guide for how to act during these hellish days. I admit, Liri, I’m breaking down. I’m trying to understand how I’m supposed to stay optimistic. How will everything work out for the best in the end?
Every night before I go to sleep, I talk to you and ask for your forgiveness—forgive me that another day has ended and we still haven’t been able to bring you home.
Excerpted from:
“Seeing where hostages were held, crying and thinking of you,” Shai Elbag, Ynet News, Sept. 11, 2024
Shai Elbag is the sister of hostage Liri Elbag who’s been held by Hamas in Gaza since October 7.
If I have one “obligation to the readers” it is not to “share my opinion” nor to become a new (female?) “observer for the house of Israel” lecturing about the “lessons” of this war. All that I can do as a writer is to let all of these characters and images in, to let them tell their own untold, incomprehensible story, putting it into words even if these words will not make sense for a very long time, maybe never.
Excerpted from:
Tamar Merin, “Writing the untold when you can’t find the words,” Ynet News, Sept. 12, 2024
Tamar Merin is an Israeli novelist, literary scholar, and critic in Tel Aviv.
When I said goodbye to you, you asked me, Rachel, to take a family photo of you again when Hersh returns. I promised you I would.
You insisted with me and told me to believe it, and I told you that I believed in it with all my heart and so it was. I prayed for Hersh’s return in each of my prayers. Rachel, Jon, I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.
Excerpted from:
Instagram post on @avishag_sy on Aug. 31, 2024
Avishag Shaar-Yashuv is an Israeli photojournalist whose photos have appeared in a variety of Israeli and international media, including the New York Times.
BEN YEHUDA: THIS IS THE REALITY, AND IT IS A NIGHTMARE
Hello everyone, my name is Ira Ben Yehuda, and I have been an educator at the Shared Education Center in Sha’ar HaNegev for the past nine years.
A child who has lost one of their parents is called an orphan. A father or mother who has lost one of their children is called a bereaved parent, as are siblings, grandparents, and so on. There still isn’t a term for a fiancée or girlfriend who is bereaved. What do we call an educator who has lost a student or a graduate from their class or program? Can we call them a bereaved teacher? The discussion of loss is powerful and difficult, and I can say with certainty on behalf of the teachers that many of us have not yet begun to mourn the many students and graduates we have lost. A terrible thought crosses my mind every Memorial Day at school: which of my students here will not return from battle, and we will tell “He was…” stories about them. I never imagined that my students and their families would be murdered in their own homes. But this is the reality, and it is a nightmare. We have always lived by the sword. This time, we felt it with the most vigorous intensity possible, in the place we live that is supposed to be the safest in the world. I told the students on the last Memorial Day that the educators around them love them and they are dear to our hearts, and we are here for them always. What is this surreal reality? This youth, who is of high quality, is going to do Shnat Sherut, and Mechina (pre-army gap year programs) and enlist in the army. Why should they continue to do this? Nine years ago, I prepared Ziv Berman for the citizenship matriculation exam. One of the first things taught in this subject is natural rights. I would like to focus on one of the central rights, which is the right to life and security, defined as: the right of every person not to be harmed in their soul or body. The right of every person to protection of their life. It is the duty of every state to protect the lives and security of its citizens from hostile forces within the state and beyond its borders.
I wish the state would fulfill its duty to bring back all the hostages at this moment. We have no right to exist here without them. We know it’s not easy. We know there are risks. But we believe there is no other choice. We must do everything in our power to save the lives of everyone’s loved ones. I admire everyone who comes here week after week, anyone who does even the smallest thing to keep the hostages on the public and media agenda. I know I am not doing enough.
Last week, my students and teachers from middle and high schools went on summer vacation; tomorrow, the elementary school children will do the same. I hope that the summer vacation of our hostages will begin right now!
Excerpted from:
Remarks delivered at the hostage rally, June 29, 2024
Ira Ben Yehuda, from Kibbutz Gevar’am, is a teacher and educator at Sha’ar HaNegev High School. The school community lost students, alumni, and teachers in the attack on October 7.
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