I can’t concentrate.
I had refused to believe.
I had refused to accept that this could be the end of their story.
For months, I carried the weight, the fear, the hope
That somehow, some way,
There was one person among them
Who would say not them.
That a mother holding her children,
Shielding them in that thin, desperate blanket,
Would be spared.
For months, every baby I saw
Became him, Kfir, small and fragile,
And him, Ariel, so young, so innocent,
With their distinct orange curls,
So bright, so full of life,
Pressed against her, Shiri,
As the world looked away.
I held onto the belief that they were alive,
That somewhere, in the darkness,
They were waiting to come home.
But now, on day 502, I know.
They are home, but not the way I prayed for.
Not in their mother’s arms.
Not with life.
I can’t breathe.
It is October 7 all over again.
The same weight crushing my chest.
The same horror, the same helplessness.
Not just because they’re gone,
But because it happened.
Because they were taken.
Because cruelty knew no limits.
ה’ עד מתי?
How much more?
How many more shattered families?
How many more names?
How much more pain?
And yet—I know what we’ve seen.
We’ve seen miracles beyond logic,
Beyond reason, beyond nature.
A nation that should have fallen,
That should have been crushed by grief,
And yet—we still stand.
Soldiers walking out of battles they should never have survived.
Families shattered, yet still finding ways to rebuild.
Tears that fall, but hands that keep giving.
It is the same force that has given us these miracles,
That has given us this pain.
I do not understand
How could I?
How could I ever?
But I know.
I know there is a plan,
Even in the darkness,
Even when I cannot see it.
Kfir, Ariel, Shiri,
I see you.
I carry you.
And I will never stop remembering.
And even as I cry,
Even as the pain grips me,
I do what we have always done.
We move forward,
Not because the pain is gone,
Not because I understand,
But because we are Am Yisrael.
We do not just move on.
We do not forget.
We carry this pain,
And we build with it.
“וְנִקֵּ֖יתִי דָּמָ֣ם לֹֽא־נִקֵּ֑יתִ. (Yehuda May)