Hersh, we will always leave the light on

I really believed it would be different.

I thought Hersh would come back. Maybe not this Shabbos, maybe not next, but soon. Certainly before Elul ended, when Gd is in the fields, Grace within reach.

I pictured him walking into his family’s home on a Friday night, the candles already flickering, the table set, the air thick with the warmth of Shabbat. He’d slide into his seat, the familiar hum of blessing filling the room, his presence a quiet comfort. He’d smile that easy smile, the one that spoke of his hope, his belief in something bigger than himself.

His mom and dad kept the light on. They FOUGHT for that light. And he came home.

I thought he’d be back to do the work he loved—to build bridges where there were walls, to find common ground where there was division, to show that Jews and Arabs could share this land in peace. I imagined him at his favorite pub in Jerusalem, the place where the world’s problems were always solved over a whisky and a smoke, the kind of place where everyone knew your name, your story.

I thought he’d climb a ladder and take the banner with his face on it down himself, and then hug his friends, thanking them for keeping the light on for him and believing in his return, just like his parents did.

I thought it wouldn’t end this way—with thousands in the streets, not cheering his return, but mourning his loss. I really believed that we’d be celebrating, not grieving. I thought we’d see him come home, that his work, his passion, his belief in peace, would keep him safe.

But here we are.

And though he was murdered, what Hersh stood for, what he believed in, doesn’t end here. His light, his dedication to a shared society, to peace between Jews and Arabs, lives on in the hearts of those who knew him, and even those who didn’t. His voice, though silent now, will continue to echo in the work that needs to be done, in the hope that must never die.

I wish the story had a different ending. But Hersh’s story, his stand, is not over. We will carry it forward, each of us in our own way, to pick up the pieces and remember his courage and his kindness.

We will always keep the light on.
We will fight for it.
For him. For us. For what’s possible.