Today in Israel we woke up to thunder and rain, as if G-d himself raged and wept with us. I left the supermarket balancing a box of strawberries on my hand - a small treat but my child is the same age as Ariel Bibas and we are all hugging our children closer today. "It's a difficult day," said a random women as I passed her. In the bakery, the radio was playing sad songs. Yet another message from psychologists came round on WhatsApp: "how to help your children cope with the news" - together with the fervent hope that he's too young, he won't hear about it, he won't see the sadness on the grownups' faces.
The return of Shiri, Ariel and Kfir Bibas and Oded Lipshitz in coffins is devastating. Not just because they are four more victims of this war, but because they symbolise the absolute evil of an enemy who sees nothing as an illegitimate target: not a 9-month old baby and not a peace activist in his 80s who was a committed socialist who had worked as a journalist reporting on the Sabra and Shatila massacre in the 1980s and volunteered to drive Gazan patients to their appointments at Israeli hospitals. The news of the death of the Bibas family, while only officially announced yesterday, cannot have come as a surprise to any Israeli: they were not released in November 2023, and we know that by the time of the current deal, at least, the numbers of living and dead hostages released by Hamas matched Israeli intelligence, but still, Hamas's cruel psychological warfare, which included faking pictures of the death of Daniella Gilboa, who was released alive, fuelled the optimism that so many people wished to cling to.
A rabbi friend of mine wrote an honest post on social media (I'm not quoting by name to protect their identity but it was a public post):
Yesterday I lit a memorial candle and two small candles at home. What does that help? What can be done? Maybe that's all that's left.
Soon I will travel to plant olive trees with [in a Palestinian area, in an interfaith gathering]. How far I am in my heart from peace, how much I believe in it as a distant dream...
I no longer believe in two states.
I do not believe that the Palestinians as a group want to live alongside us in peace.
I believe in planting olive trees and living in peace with anyone who is willing to live in peace with us.
I do believe in that: in planting olive trees in difficult moments. So that someone, one day, will enjoy the good oil of this land. And live in peace.
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Today is a day for grief. But with the grief I feel rage.
Rage at Hamas for crossing every red line and spitting on the most basic image of humanity, including holding a sick ceremony this morning in front of hundreds of onlookers, with the coffins of the dead hostages in front of a backdrop of their pictures framed by blood. It is difficult to cope with this sadisic, manipulative cruelty even when I know that the manipulation is aimed at me, us, the Israeli public; aimed at manipulating us into baying for the war whose continuation is Hamas's only chance for survival.
Rage that though the Israeli leadership apparently knew of the fate of the Bibas family since November 2023 when they were not released in the ceasefire deal, yet declined to release that information until yesterday, because it was expedient for them for us to cling onto belief - just as ten years earlier, in 2014, they allowed us to pray for weeks for the safety of three teenage boys kidnapped by Hamas, while all the time they knew the boys had been murderd that day. Rage that they did not even release the information after Yarden Bibas was freed, leading him to spend his first two weeks of freedom in psychological torture, hoping for their release then having his hopes dashed - not to mention the psychological torture of the whole nation, for whom the Bibas children, more than anyone, represented the hostage crisis. Rage at the Israeli government who abandoned its citizens, before and after Oct 7, knowing that the bombing campaign would endanger the hostages who were being used as human shields. We don't know what happened to these four hostages, but we do know that not everything was done to free them and others.
My friend is right: it is hard to imagine how we get from here to peace. After our hearts have been shattered again and again for a year I find myself asking: is this it, is this the worst? Can we begin to rebuild now? Or do I need to continue to brace myself? But as he also wrote: even when the picture is dark, we must continue to plant trees, continue to plant the seeds of hope. Because if we don't merit to enjoy the fruits of the trees, we still must not give up hope that others will.
During the time I have spent writing the post, the bodies of the four hostages have been transferred first to the Red Cross then to Israeli hands. Oded, Shiri, Ariel and Kfir, your souls can go free now, as you return to the gentle earth from which you came. We all wish things had been otherwise, and our tears are both grief and guilt that they weren't. I hope that in the world of souls, Ariel Bibas is running alongside Hind Rajab while Kfir tries to catch up, while Shiri sits with Mohamed Abuel-Qomasan's wife and dotes over her twins, and Oded Lifshitz looks on with a grandfatherly smile.
May we merit to hold onto hope and remember the dead by planting the seeds that make things better, not worse.
למלחמה אין מנצחים
There are no winners in war