Hersh’s Fight, Rachel’s Magic: Belief in the Impossible

I’ve been pregnant since the start of this war. 

I tested positive for a pregnancy right before Sukkot. Then the world changed forever on October 7th. I found out the following Friday I was miscarrying. 

For two weeks I was in a fog, my heart shattered and my body aching. Loss everywhere. I resisted mourning a pregnancy that never was. 

How could I when 1300 of my people were murdered in one day? When hundreds of families awaited news of their family members… were they safe, killed or kidnapped?

Amidst this collective grief, my partner and I committed to bringing another Jewish soul into the world. 

We resolved to fight back by embracing life. We would combat despair with hope, anti-Semitism with more Judaism, and hate with love. While our enemies commit to Jewish death, we commit to Jewish life.

In December we were pregnant again.

As we awaited the arrival of our third child, Rachel Goldberg-Polin rose as a leader, speaking boldly and gracefully about her stolen son, Hersh and the others held in captivity.

Her tireless advocacy brought the stories of the Nova massacre to the forefront.

Initially, Rachel’s advocacy made me uncomfortable. I could not imagine having the strength to do the same for my son in spite of my work as a motherhood and parenting coach. Confused, all I could imagine was that in that same situation god forbid, I’d be under the covers, hiding. Like a zombie, frozen, unable to care for myself.

I looked up to Rachel, in awe, almost dumbfounded by her courage. I wondered, where did she find the strength to speak with such poise and composure?

In November Rachel captured our attention speaking at the March in Washington to an audience of over three hundred thousand. By then, I recognized her voice and felt connected to her.

I knew Hersh’s name, his face, his story. Over the months that passed countless videos were posted of her speeches, fighting for awareness – with grace. She asked us to take action, never communicating any hate.

She wore a simple piece of torn tape on her shirt marking the number of days the hostages had been held in captivity.

I’ll never forget when she ran out of masking tape, devastated to buy more. 

Every speech ended with a heartfelt plea: “Hersh, if you can hear me: I love you, stay strong, survive.” 

Rachel once remarked that Hersh, her first and only son, changed who she was. Before him, she was a spouse, sister, daughter, and friend, but becoming a mother transformed her relationship with the world.

She met leaders across the globe pleading with them to bring her son home, keeping the focus on Hersh, without politicizing her message. 

As she advocated for Hersh, my perception of her and I how related to her, changed too. I shed doubts about myself and no longer felt shame about what I could never be. Rather, I internalized her underlying message: 

As a mother it’s our job to go to the ends of the earth to fight for our children.

Out of thin air, she created a world of possibility for us, like a mother does for young children as they dream of their future. 

It was almost magical. 

She inspired us to believe that Hersh would return, learning to live with a prosthetic arm and adventure again. That he would dance, read, and eat his favorite foods, together, again.

She made me, she made so many of us, believers. As we invested in her story, we prayed with her, for her dreams, for our dreams, to come true.

Despite all odds, she was right., Hersh was alive, surviving in a dungeon in the harshest conditions for almost 11 months in unimaginable conditions. 

Yet, we never got the storybook ending we prayed for. Sadly, on day three hundred and thirty, the magic died. 

My soul never wanted to admit what I knew in my bones: that the terrorists were negotiating with their fingers crossed behind their backs – that Rachel was never going to get her son back.  

They tortured Hersh, and they tortured us, as we held out hope. 

He was executed in Rafah, an estimated forty-eight to seven two hours before the IDF arrived to save him. 

My heart breaks for Rachel as her dream, and our dreams of their safe return, is shattered.

As we collect ourselves and mourn his death along with Eden, Alexander, Almog, Carmel, and Ori, let us stay united.

It’s hard to be optimistic and thankful in the midst of tragedy. And without diminishing the gravity of the loss, I remain humbly grateful for the lessons Rachel imparted to us about motherhood and the way she kept us all hopeful for so long.

She brought us together, fought with immense bravery, and humility. 

Her actions taught us that being a mother means seeing the world differently and fighting for our children, even when we feel we have no fight left.

The devastating end to Hersh’s life, leaves me a profoundly changed mother. 

Thank you, Rachel, for showing us the true strength and magic of a mother’s love.