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Romi Sussman

Braided hope

The first time that I went to synagogue on Friday night, after October 7, 2023, I thought I might pass out. I could barely sit there in my own skin.

Our shul attracts a vibrant crowd with a lot of singing and beautiful davening, and there are many teenage girls who come to be part of the joy. I found myself sitting behind many such girls with beautiful long hair.

And all that I could think of was Naama Levy.

All that I could see was her bloody sweatpants, the terror in her eyes, the handcuffed hands, and the hair.

Her beautiful hair which was being used, in the picture shared around the world, as a weapon to literally pull her into Gaza.

For months, I couldn’t stay home on Friday night while my family went to shul; I just couldn’t be alone. But I also couldn’t really handle shul.

Their hair, each young girl’s beautiful hair, called out to me for help. For saving. Their hair had been weaponized into a vehicle for the worst terror imaginable.

I looked at their hair instead of listening to the beautiful davening and I thought of the observation girls who were raped that day, and probably continued to be raped in captivity; of Karina Ariev, Daniella Gilboa, Liri Albag, Agam Berger and Naama Levy. I thought of Ori Megidish who was miraculously rescued in captivity by our IDF forces on October 30, 2023 and of Noa Marciano who was killed after being dragged into Gaza. I thought of their officer who fought and died that day and the many other soldiers who died on the base as these girls were beaten, injured and dragged into Gaza.

And, of course, I thought of their mothers, their sisters, their entire families.

Needless to say, I didn’t daven well for a very long time.

And then, this weekend as we were davening, I noticed the long, gorgeous hair in front of me.

And for the first time in 15 months, I associated the hair with an entirely different image and I felt a boulder lift from my chest.

Braids.

Agam Berger.

As various hostages have returned home with beautiful braids, they have recounted that the source of the braiding was Agam.

Agam would braid their hair in captivity to offer the hostages a way to feel normal, to offer them a way to feel pampered.

And to signal to her family (when others were released) that she was alive.

It was her secret signal, her code of life.

Most recently, as she was torturously left behind and alone when her four friends were released last week, each girl recounted how Agam would braid their hair and bring them hope.

And then Agam, herself, returned to discuss her braiding as a sign of hope, perseverance, life. And as she stepped out of our posters and back into our lives, women around the country braided their hair in solidarity. One entire El Al flight attendant crew wore beautiful braids that day for Agam, as did so many others.

Agam also spoke about her faith during her captivity; about how the decisions that she made to try to stay true to her observance while in captivity kept her alive and kept her faith.

And for the first time since October 7th, I looked at the beautiful hair in front of me at shul on Friday night and thought of the braids and the hope and the incredible – incredible – strength shown by these returning hostages. How ironic that Agam’s faith and perseverance – and the physical sign of her strength in the braids – helped me to be able to return to my own davening.

I sat up a bit in shul and I found myself able to concentrate, to pour out my heart with a tiny kernel of hope that I haven’t felt in so long.

I am by no means saying that we have accomplished all of our goals. Our soldiers (including those in my home) continue to hold up the country and I am eternally grateful to them. I keep the memory of all the soldiers who have fallen for us, as well, as they have searched non-stop for the hostages, fought tirelessly against terror and helped to create the situation to allow for the release of these hostages. There are still so many displaced, so many in mourning, and so many more hostages to return home.

But on Friday night, I was finally able to change one symbol that has been weighing on my mind and my heart – and for that I silently thanked Agam. And I thanked her for allowing me to return to prayer and to return to seeing the beauty and strength in as simple, and as complicated, a thing as a hairstyle.

About the Author
Romi Sussman is a teacher and writer. When she's not at her computer, she's juggling raising six boys ages 13-23 and conquering daily life as an Olah. She enjoys blogging here and on her personal blog at http://aineretzacheret.com.
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