What happened this week was a small miracle. Uri Magidish is neither Ron Arad nor Gilad Shalit. In fact, the general public was only exposed to her name upon her release. That's how it is when the number of abductees is so large. It is difficult to develop identification and connect a name to a facial binder. It is certainly impossible to leave 240 empty chairs around the Shabbat table, as in the days when we had one captive and called him "the child of us all."
And yet, although Uri's face and name were known only to a few, even though we only knew her when she was finally saved, the moment of liberation was a national joy, filled with tears from end to end. And here's another premise that has been debunked, at a time when it seems that almost every assumption needs to be shaken and eliminated: We identify to the depths of our souls, even without any preparation in advance.
Only after Uri returned home did it become clear in retrospect that we had been waiting for exactly what we had been waiting for. Lauri Magidish, a beautiful curly from a family that could belong to any of us, exactly what we missed for three weeks or more. How good you are back, Uri. What heroes we have here. Renew your life.
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The president and his wife did not rush to the places prepared for them in front of the microphones. They took their time. Move from person to person and story to story. Hugged for a long time, asked for the names of loved ones, hugged mothers and brothers and uncles and grandmothers and children of. And also friends of, because there are also families who have been kidnapped in full and those who are waiting for them here are the friends. And they took more time, the president and his wife, looking closely into the eyes torn with worry in the world right now.
It may sound like sentimental nonsense, but there wasn't a family member who didn't bother to mention and thank this human gesture in the summary of the meeting. We are all Israeli Netflix viewers, and yet none of us came to the president's residence to pull out the brilliant contingency plan he had prepared. No one purported to teach the chief of staff how to release the hostages, erase Hamas and transfer Sinwar in his underwear and Simchat Torah flag to the Biblical Zoo.
We came to make sure we were seen. To ensure that our abducted loved ones are the top priority of the State of Israel. Because not always, and not for everyone, it was obvious. We also wanted to make sure that no one upstairs adopts the broken, foolish thought that concern for the fate of the abductees goes against the need to defeat Hamas. As if one could even imagine victory without them. And what kind of victory it would be, without all the hostages returning home.
It was an event that none of its participants will forget until their last day. I have never seen so many eyes around me that have become bulbs of pain and lack of sleep. I've never heard such breaths around me. Everything was on the edge at the President's House. No one raised the sound there, but the air itself roared.
The meeting of the families of the abductees at the president's residence was an unacceptable event. Let me explain myself: it was a necessary and important meeting, and better late than never. But nothing here is acceptable. Three weeks or more after the scum of Gaza and Hamas trampled on the fence, the conception and the last of the illusions, and those who did not slaughter were kidnapped into their tunnels, children and women, from boy to old man, finally someone from the country's leadership saw fit to meet these good and trampled people and look into their eyes, into our eyes. To embrace with bowed heads the unbearable pain, and our wounding presence, which is a memento of iniquity.
After all, every time you see someone holding a sign with a picture – a two-year-old girl with a birthday bouquet on her head – you will be left with no choice but to recall the sad fact that on October 7, Shabbat Simchat Torah and the day of rain prayers, the State of Israel twice violated its sacred covenant with its citizens.
For once, because the right to protection and security is the basic clause in the contract between the citizen and the state, any state. And a second time, because this particular state, Israel, was established precisely on the basis of the oath that never again. We will never be hunted in our homes, slaughtered, raped or kidnapped. There will never be a gathering of abducted families, and there will never be hundreds of them.
These were violated by the State of Israel. What do I say violation - to pieces they shattered. Remind me, when all this is over, that never, but never, breach of trust can again be considered a negligible offense in Israel's law books.
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One night this week, about an hour after midnight, a threatening tweet came out of the Prime Minister's House, seeking to deflect full responsibility for the failure of October 7 on those who in any case take, and will continue to take, the burden of burden and blame. In fact, this tweet mainly revealed, to those who still need clarification, the depth of the leadership crisis in which we are immersed.
Then came apologies and solemn declarations, but not only did they not obscure the harsh impression, they also left a sad feeling that if someone does regret it, it is not the very things he regrets - but the reactions he regrets. Reactions that radiated revulsion, rage and panic, and the feeling that this people, at this time, deserve much more.
Two weeks ago, when we were exposed at the families' headquarters to attempts from above to create conflict between the families of the abductees, to divide and stir, the Prime Minister's Office responded by saying that the very thought that improper considerations are guiding the leadership is "false, shocking, outrageous, unacceptable, and it is a good thing that it was not said." And I, what can I tell you, have always suspected comments with too long a list of superlatives. But other than that I agree. Something false, shocking, outrageous and unacceptable is happening here, and it would have been better if it hadn't happened.
Aunt Leah z"l was an amazing woman. Her life was difficult—she was widowed at 18 with three children—but her stories were very funny, and very politically incorrect. She loved to tell, for example, about that Jerusalem idiot who was caught one day after defecating, oh shame, in the water of the mikveh.
Hopps - he said in response - I didn't know it was floating...
I wrote here two weeks ago about the DP camp at the Shefayim Hotel. I didn't have time to tell you about a moving and human moment that has been with me ever since. Masses of volunteers came to Shfayim to help and contribute to the survivors of the kibbutzim Kfar Azza and Or Hanner. The bravest even tried to make them happy. One of them was Motella Spiegler, the football legend of all time. It was wonderful to follow the reactions to it. It was great to chat with this smart, smiling and deep man.
Everyone who recognized him immediately straightened up a little. Fathers, who two days ago went through an indescribable inferno, gathered the children to them, pointed to Spiegler and briefly explained who it was. The children understood quickly, and immediately jumped in to earn a selfie with the man who a moment before had looked like a grandfather to them, and now they admired.
Motala welcomed everyone, laughed and said, "Pep, listen, if the goalkeeper had stood in his place, not a single goal of mine would have gone in." And I, these are the kind of leaders I want to be here. And I know they're already here. They have stripped off the tracksuits and are already warming up along the lines.
shishabat@israelhayom.co.il
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