December 27, 2025

On these trips, we typically don’t program on Shabbat. We usually just let people have some down time to rest and take in the city however, this time we had a different plan. We were going to spend the morning with the community from Kibbutz Nir Oz – a community that over the last 2 years has become a sacred and treasured part of our TBJ fabric. As you all know by now, Nir Oz lost a quarter of their community on that dark morning – either by murder or kidnapping – and they have spent the last 2 years clawing their way back to a moderate sense of normalcy.

That Shabbat morning, we woke up, had some breakfast at the hotel and then boarded the bus for the hour long drive down to Carmei Gat, the area where a group from Nir Oz is living now.

Folks were sleepy on the bus. We were a bit nervous because it was supposed to rain and our original plan had been to go on a nature walk/hike. We didn’t want it to be awkward if we were all just standing around without an activity to break the ice but we knew they had it covered and simply hoped it would all go to plan.

When we arrived, it wasn’t yet raining and we timidly walked off the bus and into a large gymnasium type space. It had been set up with tables; a huge display of lovingly homemade food, foam climbing blocks for the children, art projects and rainbow loom kits. They were ready for us. And their kids, just like ours, needed stimulation and activity. Many of them didn’t speak English and our kids don’t speak Hebrew. They couldn’t communicate verbally but somehow, they fell into a rhythm of creating together without words.

Outside, a few of our high schoolers approached some of the teens from the Nir Oz contingent. Again, language was a barrier but one of them said “do they like sports?” Next thing we knew, we heard a basketball bouncing on the pavement. Cheers as they tossed an (American) football across a small patch of grass. Laughter as the ice began to break and conversations began to take off.

On the largest wall they had hung wall sized posters of Kibbutz Nir O; a wall sized lament calling out to their lost, beloved home. In the center of the room, there was a beautiful netting hanging from the ceiling with some skach on top like a sukkah. From the netting hung photo cubes on strings like a beautiful mobile. As we looked closer, we saw that the cubes held photos of those they had lost. Faces that have become familiar to us despite never having met them. The vibrant smiles of the Bibas boys. The kind eyes of Oded Lifshitz. The shining faces of Jonny and Tamari Siman Tov and their 3 children. All of them murdered that day. It took my breath away. The reminder that no matter how normal these moments may feel.. the shadow of that day is always present. The empty chairs remain full of the presence of absent friends who will never return.

As I looked around the room, I realized that not only were the faces on the photographs familiar but so were the faces in the room around us. Everywhere I looked were people I’ve come to know; members of this community who have only recently returned from captivity in Gaza. I’m reticent to refer to them as “hostages” because they are so much more than what happened to them. These individuals who have risen to a level of fame celebrities could only dream of – for the worst reasons one could possibly imagine – are just people, after all. People whose lives were stolen from them for hundreds of days and who are just now finding their way back.

I spoke to Avital Dekel-Chen. Her husband Sagui had been kidnapped. They’d been together since they were young teenagers and have 3 little ones. Their daughter, Shachar Mazal, was born while her father was in captivity. I remember vividly watching their reunion.

Mazal (luck) had been their name for the baby while Avital had been pregnant. So when the baby came, Avital named her Shachar (morning) Mazal (luck) – a name chosen with an almost painful sense of optimism. When Sagui returned she told him the name and he buckled at the knees with joy. I remember crying as I watched that reunion and held back tears as I took in the scene I was witnessing now.

Beau and Shachar toddled over to each other and he tried to steal her pacifier. Avital and I laughed and remarked at how adorable and challenging this age is; just two moms watching their kids play together. I told her how much I had connected with her and their story and she said eagerly, “wait you have to meet my husband.” She called him over and there he was. This man whose face I had memorized after 2 years of seeing his hostage poster, a stagnant photograph had captured but one moment in a lifetime of moments, had come to life right in front of me. Watching him hold that little girl, now almost 2 years old with pigtails and a whole personality, was almost more than my heart could hold.

“Don’t worry about where your baby is,” – they told Eli and me – “around here there is always someone to take care of them. If he needs a diaper – they will change him. If he’s hungry they will feed him. You can sit and relax.” This is kibbutz life – everyone is holding a baby but the baby belongs to their friends or their cousin or their sister. They are all one big family.

As we talked, I asked him how it has been for them in the last few months and whether he feels his community is healing. He said, “yes of course – now that all the living hostages are home it feels we can begin to breathe again.” Then he turns around and points to a table full of children, babies really, all little ones trying to eat from their plates while they can barely see over the table top. “This one lost her father that day. That one lost her uncle. This one is an orphan. So for them too.. having their parent’s body returned to be buried.. that was just as important.”

Again – the shadow of October 7th moves over us for a moment. In fact, all day it felt like a shadow that moved around a brightly lit room. Some moments we stood in the sunlight and some moments we felt the chill of the shadow. For that Shabbat morning, we had to hold both truths simultaneously. Something this community has been learning to do for almost 2.5 years.

It strikes me that many of these children were born during the war. Some of them have parents they will never meet and family they may not remember, save for the stories they will hear again and again throughout their lives. I tell Sagui that he looks well and he says, “well half of my body doesn’t work but I’m home, I’m alive – that’s what matters.” He scoops up Shachar into his arms and the light behind his eyes brightens.

On the other side of the room – someone cracks a joke and laughter erupts. And the sun moves the shadow out of the way again.

I walk over to the art table to check on Willa and see Jess Gantman sitting with a beautiful young woman. It takes me a minute to register and then Jess says “Lucy this is Arbel.”

Arbel Yahood was one of the most recognized hostages to be released last year. We all saw the photos of her horrible journey home as the terrorists swarmed her van and she pushed through the crowd of Hamas Militants. One last moment of torture, of intimidation, reminding her that despite her taste of freedom, they were still in control up until the last possible moment. The images made me claustrophobic to witness. And here she was. Tiny. Beautiful. Smiling.

We talked a bit and then I mentioned that I had been in Israel in January of 2024 and this was my first time back since then. She said, “Ah I wasn’t here the last time you were here. I hadn’t come home yet.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yes – but we were waiting for you,” I said. She smiled and nodded back.

She told us that she and Ariel, her partner of many years who had also been taken, are going to be doing a TV segment soon to tell their story. “Are you nervous to tell your story to the world?” I asked her. She said “It’s the first time because after I came home, Ariel was still there. I knew that the terrorists who held me were connected to the ones that had him. They told me that if I talked about it, it could hurt Ariel. So I said nothing. But now, even though I don’t feel ready, it’s time to start to tell my story.”

I had met Ariel as well. He had a sweet dog on a leash who he walked around all morning. He was quiet and reserved and looked on alert. The setting seemed to make him uneasy. He hasn’t been home as long. I wondered if this was making him uncomfortable. I smiled and spoke with him briefly but kept a respectful distance.

Throughout the morning, I walked around the space. Inside and outside, I watched as the groups started to melt together and mix into a beautiful mandala-like scene. The group would only be together for a short time but the beauty that it constructed will endure in our memories forever.

In our tradition we talk about the separation between Shabbat and the rest of the week and we refer to it as the separation between kodesh and chol – the sacred and the mundane. This was exactly that. This day was remarkable in its simplicity. It was just an afternoon of kibbitzing and noshing and resting together. And yet it was the most sacred of moments. You could feel it in the air.

Eventually it started to drizzle – and then really rain. The babies started to fuss and we started to clean up. The day came to a natural close and we boarded the bus and headed back out on our trip.

Throughout the week we kept remarking over how powerful it was to watch the kids on this trip – particularly the teens. They really opened themselves up to the whole experience. We took in the beauty of Israel and we also encountered the complexity. They heard the stories of the lone soldiers, not much older than they are, who joined us for Shabbat dinner. They saw the faces of the kids who were brutally slaughtered at the Nova festival and in many ways, saw themselves reflected in them. They learned about the history of Jewish victimhood and Jewish strength. They wrestled and they questioned. And though I believe they came out with more questions than answers, I also saw that they came out with a true love for Israel that they can now see, hear, taste and feel. I was so moved by their openness and so proud of their embodiment of the value of Ahavat Zion.

We climbed to a lot of heights on this trip.

We opened the week by hiking the ramparts of Jerusalem – overlooking the Old City.

We hiked to the top of Masada and witnessed the expanse of the Negev.

We drove to Metulla and looked out over the Lebanese border.

And yet for me, the highest point in the entire trip was that Shabbat morning in Carmei Gat.