28 Years of Light: A Birthday, A Prayer, A Promise

Marking the Berman twins’ second birthday in captivity, we refuse despair. Israel’s story and theirs are not over

I remember the first time I came across the names Gali and Ziv Berman. It was shortly after the October 7 massacre, during a somber but powerful visit to Dizengoff Square in Tel Aviv. A table stood there – modest, understated, but impossible to ignore. Twin candles flickered in the afternoon breeze. Photos, notes, and prayers surrounded the faces of two young men whose lives had been violently interrupted.

They were taken from their home in Kibbutz Kfar Aza. From their beds. From their futures.

And now, nearly two years later, the candles are still burning. Because right now, Gali and Ziv turn 28. Their second birthday in captivity.

It feels like yesterday.

Birthdays are meant to be joyful; it is meant to be a day of laughter, music, family, and celebration. But for Gali and Ziv, and for the 48 remaining hostages still in Gaza, birthdays have become markers of agony. A reminder of stolen time. Of dreams deferred. Of the world that keeps turning while their lives are suspended in a cruel limbo.

But here is what I have come to understand about these brothers, and about Israel: captivity may confine bodies, but it cannot imprison spirit.

The Berman twins were lighting technicians before their abduction. It is fitting, really. They were literally in the business of creating light – at music festivals, community events, wherever joy was needed. Today, even in darkness, they remain beacons. Symbols of what is still worth fighting for. Symbols of resilience and renewal.

We know they are alive. We know this because brave hostages who were recently released confirmed it. We know they have been separated in captivity, something unimaginable for twins who have lived side by side for 28 years. And yet, they are holding on. Still enduring. Still surviving. Still waiting.

Waiting for us.

Waiting for us to speak, to pressure, to demand, to not forget.

This birthday cannot just be a date on the calendar. It must be a national reckoning, and an international wake-up call. We cannot allow the world to grow numb, to normalize this horror, to see these hostages as political pawns or unfortunate footnotes.

Gali and Ziv are not statistics. They are sons. Brothers. Friends. Israelis. Humans.

I often wonder what they are thinking right now. Do they know it is their birthday? Have they managed, even in captivity, to exchange a quiet word of encouragement, a wink, a whispered prayer?

I hope they know we have not forgotten.

In Kfar Aza, their family set up a table in their honour again this year. Not with balloons or gifts, but with hope. With stubborn, unyielding, unapologetic hope. The kind that refuses to quit. The kind that defines this nation.

Because this is what resilience looks like. And this is how Israelis renew.

I also think of their older brother, Liran. He has become their voice. Their warrior. Their protector from afar. He shows up at Hostage Square. He speaks at rallies, meets world leaders, and pleads with every ounce of energy left in his soul. Not because it is easy. But because he cannot stop. Because they are his little brothers. Because silence is no longer an option.

Liran once said, “I imagine myself running through the hospital corridors, hugging them, wrapping them in my arms, protecting them. When they return, I will do what I couldn’t do on October 7.”

That line broke me. But it also galvanized me.

We must all be like Liran now.

There is a phrase I have returned to again and again these past 11 months: “You cannot defend the future with the mindset of the past.”

Israel has faced horrors before. It has endured wars, attacks, and global indifference. But it has also pioneered miraculous recoveries. It has rebuilt cities, lives, and dreams from rubble and ash. It has turned tragedy into tech, sorrow into song, pain into purpose.

Israel will do it again.

Let the world see in Gali and Ziv not just hostages, but harbingers of renewal. Let their eventual return, God willing, become a turning point. A reminder of what is still sacred. What is still possible.

President Trump, if you are reading this thank you for what you have already done – you helped set back the Iranian nuclear threat. You helped bring dozens of Israelis people home. You shifted the conversation. You reignited hope. Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu, I call you Winston Churchill of our time, thank you.

But we are not there yet.

Gali and Ziv are still in Gaza. So are dozens more. Please, continue. Finish what you started. Make their 29th birthday one of freedom, not captivity. One of laughter, not mourning. One of cake and candles, not tunnels and chains.

You have proven that American and Israeli leadership together can still move mountains. Now move this one.

To the Berman family: we see you. We mourn with you. We pray with you. And we promise you this: we will not stop.

To Gali and Ziv: Happy 28th birthday, wherever you are. Your lives are sacred. Your story matters. Your light still shines. You are not forgotten. You are not alone.

To the people of Israel and friends around the world: Keep going. Keep marching. Keep demanding. Let this birthday remind us all, especially in these dark times, that the soul of Israel remains unbroken.

Because this is not just a nation surviving.

This is a nation innovating the future with grit, with faith, and with great, big hearts.

And the Berman twins are part of that future. We will see to it.

Happy Birthday, Gali and Ziv. May your next be in freedom.