Welcome Home, Eitan Mor

Today, Eitan Mor, who spent two years in hell as a hostage in Gaza, returned home to Kiryat Arba. Along the way, he was greeted by thousands of us who came with our flags, our music and our spirit to sing and dance along his route. Since making aliyah 21 years ago, I have stood at the tzomet of Neve Daniel more times than I can possibly recount to pay tribute to fallen heroes as their families drive to the burial in Har Herzl. I have stood at the tzomet of Kfar Etzion more times than I can possibly recount to pay tribute to fallen heroes as their families drive to the burial in the regional cemetery. I have walked with thousands of mourners into both cemeteries, participating in the final escort of our fallen.

I have never, however, had the opportunity, the incredible privilege, of flying the Israeli flag and standing on the roadside to welcome someone home. What a glorious privilege it was today to wait with thousands of my neighbors for the police escort, the flashing lights, the large van to pass by. We sang and danced, cried and hugged as Eitan Mor and his family drove home.

How many sleepless nights did his family, and all of us as a country, spend praying that they would return? How many sleepless nights have I, and other families of soldiers, spent in the last two years, praying that our loved ones would return from battle. How many nights did our soldiers spend in the dark, in the heat, defeating terrorists and trying, with every last ounce of effort, to bring our hostages home.

How good it is, today, to see you at home, Eitan. How glorious it is to have you, and all the others who survived, back in the arms of your family and the collective family of the nation.

Right after parking my car about two hours before Eitan actually arrived, a woman stopped me to ask if there was a place that she could sit and work for a bit; she explained she was from Tel Aviv and knew nothing of our area. “Oh my,” I said. “Eitan Mor is driving through here soon and you are going to get stuck!” Looking a bit panicked, she explained that she had a wedding to attend in Kfar Etzion in ‘similar circumstances,’ and that she couldn’t possibly miss it. I told her what to do so that she wouldn’t miss the wedding; I wished her well and she wished me well with greeting Eitan.

Only when I get home after celebrating with half of Gush Etzion and welcoming Eitan Mor, did I realize whose wedding this woman was attending. This was Rachel Goldberg’s wedding; a widow with eight children whose late husband, Rabbi Avi Goldberg, fell in Lebanon fighting for us all. While waiting near the entrance to Kfar Etzion for Eitan Mor, the crowd, apparently, danced as the bride and groom drove towards their chuppah. And then I understood what this woman meant when she said she was attending a wedding with a ‘similar circumstance.’

What an unbelievable coincidence.

And what an unbelievable day.

May we have many more such days of hope, renewal, joy and unity; while we remember all those who didn’t live to see this moment; all those who made the ultimate sacrifice for us; all those awaiting the burial of their loved ones; all those in need of physical, emotional and spiritual rebuilding.

May hope be allowed to overtake hopelessness. And may our country blossom and grow again.