100 days without them

On my journey to the Nova exhibit in Tel Aviv, followed by a visit to Hostages Square, I traced a route of introspection and reflection. This traversal of the human soul allowed me to probe its darkest depths and most luminous aspirations. At Nova, the meticulous recreation of the Hamas-led massacre plunged me into the heart of human complexity. Echoes of heinous acts – murders, violations, desecrations – resonated in every corner, challenging me to confront the abyss of human freedom, a theme painfully illustrated by Jean-Paul Sartre: “Man is condemned to be free; once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.”

In this space, where art and reality painfully intertwine, each step was a dive into existential freedom. The brutality of the terrorists, a terrifying expression of this freedom Yet, amidst despair, a resilient force sprang within me, fueled by my humanist convictions. It was a call to action and justice, an awakening to our collective responsibility to preserve humanity and compassion. The marks of horror around me were not just reminders of cruelty but also symbols of our duty to resist barbarism and transform grief into a quest for a world free of hate.

Leaving Nova, I carried not despair but a burning determination. The darkness of terror met the light of hope and the strength of collective action. In this tragic scene, my conviction was renewed: we must strive for a fairer and more peaceful tomorrow.

At The Hostages Square, sorrow and hope intertwined, drawing a narrative of resilience in the face of adversity. Each step was a path through contrasting emotions, reflecting the deep anguish for lives changed by terror and the unyielding hope that springs from despair. This plaza, with each name and monument, narrated stories of traumas and survivors, reminding us that behind terror lie human lives, shattered dreams, and derailed futures. But in this grief, a union and a commitment emerged not to let terror dictate our destinies.

The Hostages square radiated a subtle hope, telling tales of courage and the human capacity to rise again. More than a memorial, it is a beacon for the future, a call to each visitor toward a world free from tragedies, a call for a reality.

In this place, I felt a deep connection to the human journey, marked by the ability to overcome, heal, and rebuild.

It reminded us that even in our darkest hours, hope remains, guiding us to light and renewal.

These visits formed a narrative of contemplation, symbols of our collective walk toward healing and a better world.

They remind us that in the face of darkness, our shared humanity and hope are beacons guiding us. This conviction strengthens us, driving us to foster a unity that transcends political divisions, essential for healing and progress.

P.S. First post without writing about Benjamin Netanyahu and his extremist group, ups.