The Jerusalem Post - The Jerusalem Post Magazine
Esteemed readers, FROM THE EDITOR’S DESK
Hope you’ve all been as OK as possible (my preferred greeting for the “newer new normal”). Last week, I found myself at a loss for words, which doesn’t happen too often. I actually meant to publish this editor’s note in last Friday’s issue but realized I needed more time to process events in order to coherently put my pen to paper (fingers to the keyboard).
What happened was this: Erev Shabbat, February 9, I realized I had not responded to an invitation to take part in a special Shabbaton put on by Kesher Yehudi – a social movement run by haredim, dedicated to unifying Israeli society from all religious backgrounds using “our greatest national assets,” the Torah and our Jewish identity – with the help of hostage and achdut advocate Shelli Shem Tov (whose son Omer was taken at Supernova) and some families of hostages.
Thirty-six families of hostages remaining in Gaza were coming together to celebrate Shabbat in a Jerusalem hotel. The majority of participants were secular, and many had never observed a full Shabbat in the past – but it was happening.
Since Oct. 7, I have been covering the tragedy and all the stories behind it. I have felt infused with purpose: documenting history and bringing the truth to the world. But I have rarely gotten up from behind my desk and ventured out into the field, to Kibbutz Be’eri or the Supernova site, to funerals or IDF bases – all with the goal of protecting myself from further trauma and the depth of pain gripping our people, which I already feel very keenly based on the material I wade through daily. I needed to continue to function to do my job, live my life in Israel, and not break down.
However, I could not say no to this invitation, to the opportunity to connect and learn from these incredible families dealing with the most unbearable realities. The timing could not have been more apt – as Israel mulled over the lose-lose possibility of a hostage deal, the Feb. 9 Magazine cover story elaborated on Judaism’s position on redeeming our captives.
And so, I found myself that Shabbat day around the lunch table with a husband and wife, Hagai and Anat, whose son, Matan, was on active duty on Oct. 7 and was pulled from a tank along with three fellow soldiers. One was killed and the remaining three, including Matan, were taken hostage. The family learned that he was taken to Gaza but have heard very little since. His parents have not worked since then, his siblings have not gone to school. Life has stopped, though the people sitting across from me were quiet but self-possessed.
How do they do it? By constantly keeping busy, Matan’s father revealed, and not allowing for a second of thought.
At another table, a woman who looked burdened by a crushing weight stood near a large, blown-up poster of her hostage child perched on a chair. Her face was unimaginably pained; her sister, there with her, had quit her job to support her through this time.
I sat and absorbed the people around me, trying to understand a bit of their unknowable experiences. There were lectures, hugs, singing. I felt overwhelmed but strengthened by their achdut, engineered by an ultra-Orthodox organization.
And lo and behold, that Monday night we learned that against all odds, two hostages were rescued by the IDF. With God’s help, of course. And with the help of, I believe, these families who rose above the strife and united as one. As noted by Keshet Yehudi founder Tzili Schneider, “I am of course not surprised that we woke up to miraculous news of two hostages being freed. Without in any way dismissing IDF’s work on this for weeks, there is no way that such beautiful unity and crying together and praying together didn’t reach the heavens. Of course it had to. It moved everyone in the room. It was incredibly powerful, we all felt it.”
I feel very fortunate to have had the privilege of witnessing part of it. And lo and behold, when I checked the Feb. 9 Magazine cover which included the Hebrew names of some of the hostages, there he was: Matan ben Anat, whose parents sat at my table.
In the days that came after there was some emotional fallout, but I could handle it.
How great are our people.