Bring Them Home, Speak Their Names

It was early morning in Dizengoff Square, Tel Aviv.

I was walking slowly through the square, past photographs of the victims of October 7 — faces printed on laminated sheets, clipped to fences, lamp posts, and flower beds. Some had candles beside them. Others were ringed with yellowing ribbons. Each one bore a name. A smile. A story. A life.

Next to me stood a young man, clearly shaken. Tears gathered in his eyes.

“Did you know him?” I asked softly.

“Yes,” he said. “He was my dear friend. Worse still, two people from his family were kidnapped.” He pointed towards another photo clipped to a nearby pole.

That quiet exchange stayed with me. Because beyond the numbers, beyond the politics, beyond the headlines — they are still there. Fifty-three hostages still held in Gaza. Some confirmed dead. Others believed to be alive. All held in a cruel limbo that stretches on, day after day.

Their families too are trapped — in the captivity of waiting. Waiting for news. For proof of life. For a decision.

This past week, with war in Iran dominating national attention, those families gathered virtually. Over 2,000 people joined an online event, one of many replacing the weekly public demonstrations that are now impossible due to daily missile strikes.

But their message rang out clearly: Don’t forget. Don’t move on. Bring them home.

Praying for Hostages (Photo credit: Yours Truly)

Ofri Bibas-Levy, whose brother survived captivity but whose sister-in-law and two young nephews were murdered, put it plainly: “It feels like the 53 hostages have disappeared from the conversation. And we are just one decision away from bringing them home.”

One decision.

This is not abstract. This is urgent. It is not a matter of diplomacy alone, but of human dignity. These are our people — sons and daughters, parents and grandparents, neighbors and friends. They deserve more than silence. They deserve action.

Yes, Israel is navigating existential threats. The war with Iran is real and rightly demands strategic clarity and strength. But this too must be said: the story in Gaza is not over. Not for the hostages. Not for their families. Not for those of us who still believe in compassion, accountability, and return.

Because bringing them home is where renewal begins.

Kobi Ohel, whose son Alon is among the 53, said it best: “Only then can we grow, recover, and rebuild.”

This is what resilience looks like — not just surviving crisis, but choosing humanity in the middle of it.

Israel has always been a nation defined not only by strength, but by conscience. Israel greatest victories are not measured solely in defence, but in defiance of despair. In its refusal to forget those still waiting in the shadows.

To the families of the hostages: you are not forgotten.

You are the guardians of memory. Holding candles in digital spaces. Posting names when others stop mentioning them. Holding onto hope even when it hurts. You show the world what true strength looks like.

And to the hostages — your lives matter. Not just because of who you were before October 7, but because of who you still are: symbols of perseverance, fragments of our national soul waiting to come home.

This is what it means to innovate the future of Israel — not only through science and startups, but through moral clarity. Through decisions rooted in decency. Through a relentless insistence that Israel does not leave its people behind.

So we speak your names again — not just in mourning, but in belief.

We believe in your return.

We believe that Israel, brilliant and unyielding, can make room in its heart and agenda for those still in captivity. We believe that memory is a form of rescue. That rescue is an act of renewal.

And to those leading Israel: let this be your call to courage.

Don’t wait for the next crisis to pass. Don’t let history say we moved on too soon. Make the decision. Bring them back.

Let their return be the beginning of healing.

Because to rebuild a future without them would not be complete.
Because to forget them would betray Israel’s very identity.
Because in every flickering vigil, every name whispered in the dark, Israel finds the strength to rise again.

Resilience. Renewal. Israel. These are not just words. They are promises.

And they begin — here, now — with the return of the 53.