Bringing Them Home: Not Left. Not Right. Straight.

On March 31, my brother-in-law, Omri Miran, missed his daughter Alma’s second birthday. He has never celebrated a birthday with her. Omri has been held hostage by Hamas since October 7, and every passing day is a day stolen from his wife, Lishay, and their children, Roni and Alma. For them, the political discourse in Israel and the Jewish diaspora isn’t just noise—it’s pain. They are living the debate over the hostages in their bodies and in their bones. Every delay, every distraction, deepens the wound.

In a heartbreaking and unforgettable interview on Uvda, an Israeli investigative and current affairs television program, released hostage Eli Sharabi voiced the very anguish that has shaken families of hostages and captivity survivors. He was stunned that the ongoing hostage crisis—something so deeply human—had been reduced to a battleground for political agendas.

“Nobody asked my wife and daughters what their political opinions were before they were murdered,” he said. “Nobody asked Hersh Goldberg-Polin his political opinions before he was kidnapped from the Nova festival.”

His words slice through the noise. They remind us, with devastating clarity, what truly matters.

Where politics ends, pain speaks

Since then, Eli has flown to the U.S. twice—once to meet with President Trump and again to testify before the United Nations Security Council. His mission has never wavered: to ensure world leaders do everything in their power to bring home the 59 remaining hostages.

Eli—who survived nearly 500 days of torment, starvation, and unthinkable trauma—sees the truth with the sharp focus that only suffering can bring. If he can see it so clearly, why can’t we?

A group of captivity survivors, including Eli Sharabi (bottom right), meets with U.S. President Donald Trump in the Oval Office on March 5, 2025. (White House/X)

Two weeks ago, a fragile ceasefire that brought 39 hostages home crumbled, leaving 59 still in Hamas captivity. For 17 months, we’ve marched, petitioned, and rallied—in Israel, worldwide, and here in NYC—whether as families of hostages or in their support. We’ve hung posters, lit candles, and worn yellow pins to symbolize unwavering solidarity. All for one cause: to free them from the depths of darkness.

But as the days drag on and the headlines fade, divisions are taking root. Outrage is being misdirected. Voices are being silenced. And the world’s attention is drifting from the only fight that matters.

Yet one truth endures: our strength is in our unity.

This is not a political debate but a moral call to action. The rise in antisemitism in the Western world is not a theory—it is a reality. However, it doesn’t mean we have to shed our sense of unity toward one another or forget our debt to our brothers and sisters still in Hamas’ captivity. History repeatedly teaches us that we are strongest when we stand shoulder to shoulder.

A sacred responsibility, a national test

Right now, 59 of our brothers and sisters remain shackled, starving, and terrified. Their bodies are broken, their spirits stretched thin. We cannot afford internal discord. We cannot let their plight be buried under the weight of our disagreements.

Our fight is not about politics. It is about justice, humanity, and the most basic, unshakable truth: everyone deserves to live free.

Every second they remain in captivity, the hostages endure unspeakable agony—pain, fear, isolation. Their survival hinges on our relentlessness. On our ability to stay focused. On our refusal to let them be forgotten.
As the ceasefire collapsed and infighting erupted in Israel, survivors of Hamas captivity broke their silence. Their voices cut through the din with raw, unfiltered pain.

Doron Steinbrecher, held in Gaza for 471 days, cried out: “I’m angry at those who think it’s okay to resume fighting. How are you not listening to us? How?”

Yarden Bibas, whose wife Shiri and two sons, Ariel and Kfir, were murdered in cold blood by Hamas, spent 484 days in captivity, and shared with anguish: “You don’t know when it’s gonna happen. And when it happens, you’re afraid for your life (resumed fighting)…the whole earth would move like an earthquake, but underground…Probably the hardest thing: I have to move [on] with my life, and David is not with me. I lost my wife and kids. Sharon must not lose her husband.”

Sasha Trupanov, who spent 498 days in captivity, confessed: “The collapse of the ceasefire takes me back to those dark days when my life was in daily danger, and I was told the government doesn’t care about me.”

These survivors have stared into the face of hell. They are begging us not to forget those still trapped in that nightmare. They are lifting their voices for the ones who cannot. They are asking us to be better. To be louder. To be braver.

Even in captivity, even amid terror and despair, they held onto something greater than themselves: each other. Before October 7, many of them had never met. But in the darkest corners of Gaza, they became family. They made a vow: we don’t leave anyone behind.

Dana Cwaigrach, head of the New York Hostages and Missing Families Forum, with captivity survivor Ilana Gritzewsky, at the Forum’s weekly rally in New York on February 23, 2025 (Liri Agami)

That is the essence of who we are. That is the heart of the Jewish people. It is woven into our national ethos—pidyon shvuyim, the sacred responsibility of redeeming captives. We have always united around this cause. We have always fought for the sanctity of life. And in our most defining moments, we have done so not as factions but as one people.

The released hostages have no illusions. They know what evil looks like. They have touched it. They have lived it. And they understand that even after this devastating war, the State of Israel and its frontier communities—north, south, and east—will continue to face enemies who seek only to destroy us. We will keep fighting for our right to live as a free, independent nation-state until all recognize that right.

But before any of that, there is one urgent mission: bring them all home.

Their healing cannot begin until every last hostage is freed. There is no greater urgency. No higher calling. This is the fight of our generation.

We must rise to meet it—not divided but united. We must not be left or right but one people bound by shared history, shared pain, and an unshakable belief in the sanctity of life. This is not about politics. It is about morality. It is about humanity.

The hostages don’t have time for our debates. They don’t have time for our disagreements.

They only have us.

So listen to Eli. Listen to Doron. Listen to Sasha. And act—so that Omri, who will turn 48 on April 11, can return to Lishay, Roni, and Alma to celebrate his birthday and the Passover Seder. So that every hostage can come home—the living to rehabilitation and the fallen and murdered to burial.

This piece was written with Dana Cwaigrach. Dana, a native of Israel and an MPA graduate from Columbia University, heads the New York Hostage Families Forum and has been one of the Forum’s leaders since October 7, 2023.