Hope and Hurt

The first of September was a difficult day for lots of us. Many people felt these deaths of these hostages much more than those of others. Some also feel guilt for mourning some deaths more than others. But why do these deaths hurt so much? Why is this changing the way the country responds to the ongoing war?

I think that part of the answer is hope. We believed these six – Carmel Gat (40), Eden Yerushalmi (24) Almog Sarusi (27) Ori Danino (25), Alex Lobanov (32) and Hersh Goldberg Polin (23)-to be alive. Personally, living in the Baka neighborhood of Jerusalem, Hersh was the one who I pictured when I thought of the hostages coming home. Posters of him are everywhere and his parents live close by. I could have passed him in the streets so many times before October, and he’d trod those streets again when he came home.

And indeed he – and the other five – were alive less than two weeks ago. Hersh was alive when his parents spoke at the Democratic National Convention in the USA, and maybe even when they stood at the Gaza border screaming his name. There was still hope then, and it was real. They were alive when Eden’s family released the details of her kidnapping, begging for signs of life, when Almog’s sister Amit warned that time was running out. They were alive when Ori’s mother said they would never give up on him and apologized that it was taking so long. They were alive when Carmel’s family organised yoga sessions and when she should have been returning to her studies, when Alex’s son was born. A son who will never meet his father, but who lived mere kilometres away from him for almost six months. The hope was confirmed and shattered at the same time. They were alive. Now, they are not. Whether you believe that a deal is a possibility, and at least three of them could have been released (the names of Hersh, Carmel and Eden appeared on lists to be released as part of the initial stage of a ceasefire and hostage release deal) or believe that only military action can be used – a debate for another time and place – you feel that something, done differently, would or at least could have saved them. And that hurts, more than anything else. When we learned of the death of Daniel Perez (22),  months after the family, as well as the many who cared for him, had the small comfort of knowing he didn’t suffer for all those months while they waited for news. With these deaths, we don’t even have that.

I don’t have any answers as to what the right thing is that Israel should do. I don’t know enough about what the real situation is on the ground (and under it) in Gaza. But I do know what the situation is in Israel, at least in my small patch of Jerusalem. We’re just trying to process the grief and pain.