We Knew Their Mothers’ Names

Like much of the Jewish world, our family sat glued to our screens in Chicago on the night of Hoshana Rabbah, holding our breath and hoping against hope that the remaining living hostages would be released. As the excitement built and newscasters announced names of those to be freed, I found myself reflexively adding their mothers’ names aloud.

When I heard “Alon Ohel,” I said, “Alon ben Idit.”
“Matan Agrest” — “Matan Shachar ben Anat.”
“Avinatan Or” — “Avinatan ben Ditza Tirtza.”

And then it hit me: I know their mothers’ names.

Nimrod ben Vicky. Omri ben Veronica. Rom ben Tamar Noa. The list went on. Every hostage had a mother—and we knew them all.

In the days following the horrific massacre of October 7, we collected the names of the hostages to pray for them. Every Shabbat and holiday, we recited a special prayer in the traditional formulation: invoking each hostage’s name along with their mother’s. Jewish tradition teaches nashim rachmaniyot hen—women are inherently compassionate—so we call upon The Compassionate One to have mercy on the child of a compassionate one.

It became my sacred task to lead the Prayer for the Hostages in our Shabbat minyan. At first, the prayer was long, as we read aloud each of the nearly 200 names.  In a congregation where someone might normally grumble if the chazan took too long with the repetition of the Amidah, not a single person ever suggested shortening the prayer. For two years, we stood together in solemn unity, unwavering in our commitment.

As hostages were released or, tragically, confirmed dead, the list grew shorter. Through repetition, the names of the 20 remaining living captives became etched into our minds and hearts.

Our rabbi, affiliated with Agudath Israel, composed a special prayer for the hostages, soldiers and wounded, which followed our daily recitation of at least two chapters of Tehillim. Wherever I traveled—Cleveland, Los Angeles, Fair Lawn, Monsey—every Orthodox shul I visited, regardless of orientation (Agudah, Modern Orthodox, Yeshivish, Chassidish), concluded its prayers with extra Tehillim and Acheinu kol beit Yisrael.

Were the hostages Orthodox? Most were not—but that was irrelevant. They were our brothers and sisters. We shared their pain and the pain of their loved ones. In more than a thousand minyanim I attended over those two years, I can count on one hand the number of times special Tehillim wasn’t added—and usually, it was because it was Shabbat.

Imo anochi b’tzarah (“I am with him in his troubles,” Psalms 91:15) became a way of life in our community. We studied extra sections of Talmud and Tanach to increase merit. We raised funds for families, communities, and soldiers. We made solidarity trips to Israel, sponsoring barbecues on army bases and bringing music to uplift the spirits of those defending our homeland and of our displaced brothers and sisters. We attended rallies and wrote letters to political leaders. Members of our community took on personal sacrifices as expressions of solidarity. One teenage yeshiva student gave up ice cream—his favorite treat—for the duration of the captivity. He tasted his first scoop in two years just a few days ago, on Sh’mini Atzeret, the day after the last of the living hostages were released. A teenage girl gave up her beloved ketchup fries. We all carried the hostages in our hearts.

When the hostages were finally released, our community was swept up in a wave of euphoria. On just a few hours’ notice, local rabbis organized a communal gathering to express gratitude to the Almighty. We had pleaded for salvation for so long; now, as our prayers were answered, it was time to give thanks. On Sh’mini Atzeret at 5:00 p.m., on the second anniversary of the massacre, more than a thousand Jewish men, women, and children packed a local shul to recite prayers and sing songs of thanksgiving. The service was led by three community rabbis: one Sephardi, one Charedi, and one Modern Orthodox. The unity, joy, and spiritual elevation of the gathering lifted us into an unforgettable Simchat Torah celebration.  As we danced that night, we rejoiced for the hostages who returned, for their mothers reunited with their sons, for all of Am Yisrael who could finally breathe a bit easier.

While the troubles of our people are not over, and the pain of countless losses still sears, perhaps we can find comfort in the words of the prophet Yirmiyahu (31:16–17) addressing Mother Rachel’s longing for the return of her children:

Thus said Hashem:
Restrain your voice from weeping,
Your eyes from shedding tears;
For there is reward for your labor, declares Hashem:
They shall return from the enemy’s land.
And there is hope for your future, declares Hashem:
Your children shall return to their border.