My Yellow Pin

My Yellow Pin

Today I took off my yellow ribbon. It wasn’t at night while getting ready for bed this time. It was this morning, not long after putting it on. It was as if removing that tiny pin suddenly lifted not only my burden, but the weight that had been shouldered by our people everywhere. I could almost hear a collective sigh of relief from Jews all around the world. Ran Gvili has returned to us. The last of the hostages held in the Hell that is Gaza. We were one with the Gvili family who waited with bated breath for this moment.

For almost 842 days a dog tag or yellow ribbon has been part of my daily attire. Getting ready for work on a weekday, for shul on Shabbat or anytime in between. Each of these symbols was a reminder for me, close to my heart, for what and for whom I had to continue to pray. It was a conversation starter with strangers who asked why I wore them, allowing me to introduce them to the “other side” of the conversation. Sometimes the responses were warm and sympathetic. Others, not so much. No matter what the reaction, the impact was felt.

Back in 2023 I was stopped by a gentleman while we both waited for the elevator in a government office building. He pointed to my dog tag and said, “I am wearing one too. It is under here” as he pointed to his shirt. “Great,” I responded, “close to your heart!” He smiled and we parted ways. More recently, as I sat in a theater waiting for the curtain to rise a young woman passing by me to get to her seat stopped, pointed at the yellow ribbon and with a knowing glance and warm smile said, “I like your pin.” “Thanks” I said as we locked eyes and hands for just a moment.

There were other interactions, some not as pleasant over the course of nearly 3 years but knowing that there were humans out there in the world who may or may not be Jewish who felt some of the pain we felt was comforting.

I know that in the Diaspora we cannot possibly feel the full range of emotions that our Israeli brothers and sisters experienced. I know that the hostage photos at every turn, the yellow chairs in public forums, the seats at the table that remained empty at family gatherings, the protests both against and in support of anything and everything made for a complicated daily life for the average Israeli.

There is almost no family untouched by the events of October 7 and the years that have followed. Certainly not in Israel, but outside of Israel too. We are one family, after all with rarely more than a degree or two of separation, as they say. Even in that separation there is a closeness. There is a sense of moral responsibility that is unique to Jews. We are commanded to live up to that responsibility time and time again by way of the mitzvot. We are responsible for supporting the widowed, the orphaned, the needy. To visit the sick and care for them. To redeem those held captive; those who are imprisoned. Yes, and that has been the focus every minute of every day since 251 innocent people were taken and held captive on October 7, since families were torn apart, and continues even as we begin the process of healing as a nation.

Now what? No pins, no dog tags, no more posters for the antisemites to tear down in the guise of anti-Zionism. We should feel relief. We should be able to breathe more easily. We should be able to face each day with a renewed sense of what it means to be complete and whole again as a nation. Why then, when I speak with my Israeli friends is their expression of joy at the return of Ran Gvili to his family followed always by an expression of concern for some other threat? Will this always be the way it is? Can we not as a nation ever experience complete happiness, or feel secure in the knowledge that our children will be safe?

At every Jewish wedding, at the moment of our greatest joy, we break a glass to remind us of the holy Temple in Jerusalem which lay in ruins. At this moment, we are reminded to pray for the redemption and rebuilding of the Temple in all its glory. At the happiest moment in a couple’s life, we take a step back to consider our history, our losses, our most heart-rending moments and look to the future when our faith, our courage and our strength will allow us to rebuild.

Here we stand again at the crossroads between exaltation and despair. For the Jewish people, despair is not an option. It would have been our demise centuries ago if our ancestors had succumbed to its power. As a nation we survive, assess and move forward in every generation. This is our history and will likely be our future. We will set aside the pins, the dog tags, the rubber bracelets and all the other reminders of this most terrible chapter in our history as a nation. Many of us will keep them to share with our grandchildren and if we are fortunate, great-grandchildren, as a reminder that we are a proud, strong nation of fighters and that every individual is as important and precious to us as family.

Welcome home, Ran Gvili.