There is pain, and there is anger, and there is an ancient feeling of anguish, too great to name.
When a Jewish life is stolen, it is not just the mourners who are bereft.
It is not just the family who have lost a loved one.
It is the whole world that has lost a light, the whole Jewish community that has lost a brother, or a sister, or a friend.
It is the very wholeness of the world that has lost something, lost something of its completeness.
It is like the world has lost a limb.
The sages teach that every person is a unique light that G-d fashioned for the world, that everyone has an integral purpose to fulfill in His infinite creation, that every one of G-d’s children is special.
And six of those special pieces of G-d’s beautiful creation were ripped from the world.
The Jewish world is grappling with grief on a civilizational scale.
The failure to bring these six sacred lights home has shaken us to our core.
We are in the throes of the grieving process. Eleven months had just passed since October 7th.
Today, we buried Hersh, and we began the mourning process once more.
Every Jew I know is somewhere in the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
But most of us are currently at anger.
Anger with the Israeli government, anger with the American government, anger with Hamas, anger with G-d, anger with ourselves – and we have every right to be.
Anger is not rational, nor is it logical, nor is it productive – but it is very real, and I would never begrudge a grieving person their divine right to be angry.
Let’s face it – this is hard.
I have lost a lot of people in my life, but nothing has ever been like this.
Nothing has ever been like the prolonged exposure to existential anguish that this past year has been.
This is really hard.
And when things are this hard, there is a strong urge to make them easier, some way, any way.
It is easier to be angry with our politicians and our politics than it is to face this grief.
It is easier to wring my hands at Bibi or Biden and scream, “this is your fault,” than it is for me to look at that hand and realize that it will now never get to shake Hersh’s hand.
Because I had been holding onto that belief for a long time.
I had been holding onto the belief that, one day, very soon, I would get to meet Hersh, who so many of my friends know and love, and I would get to be his friend too.
That is what I was holding onto on October 8th. That is what I was holding onto on day 100. That is what I think we were all holding on to.
Reason told me not to. Reason told me he was dead, and, if he was not dead, he was soon to be dead.
But Faith disagreed.
Faith told me that my beliefs were stronger than my reason.
Faith told me that if I did not give up on Hersh, Hersh would not give up on me.
And he didn’t. None of them did.
Those six hostages survived for 330 days in a Gazan hell. G-d knows what they had to endure. G-d knows how many times they thought of giving up.
But they didn’t.
Rachel Goldberg-Polin became the symbol of Jewish faith, the eternal Jewish matriarch whose faith was only outmatched by her love.
Rachel taught us what it means to believe.
And we were right.
How many nights did we lie awake in bed, asking G-d if the hostages were still alive?
But they were.
They were alive the whole time.
They were stronger than the world could have ever imagined.
And so were we.
We never stopped fighting, we never gave up, and, even in our grief, we are continuing to fight for the other hostages who need to come home.
Our faith was right – our doubts were wrong.
But still, despite all of the faith and strength of the Jewish people, those six brilliant souls are now no longer with us, and our world is darker because of it.
Did we fail them?
Could we have done more to bring them home safely?
This is the bargaining nature of grief.
Maybe we could have, maybe we could not. I wish I could offer more solace than that, but the self-doubt of grief is unavoidable.
But I think the answer is no.
They were less than two days away from being rescued. Rather than executing them, Hamas could have used the opportunity to negotiate for a temporary ceasefire or anything else, at the very least they could have gotten something from the American government for Hersh.
Jews believe that life is more sacred than anything, and we often make the mistake of assuming that others think the same way we do.
But as much as we glorify life, they glorify death.
They who woke up early on the morning of October 7th to worship at the idols of violence before making a pilgrimage of barbarity into the Holy Land have nothing in common with those who woke up early every day since to pray for the return of the innocent souls they captured.
All of my anger rests with them and their blind western enablers.
But this is not an essay about anger – this is an essay about strength.
About the strength of Hersh Goldberg Polin, Z”L.
And the strength of Carmel Gat, Z”L, of blessed memory.
And the strength of Eden Yerushalmi, Z”L, of blessed memory.
And the strength of Alexander Lobanov, Z”L, of blessed memory.
And the strength of Almog Sarusi, Z”L, of blessed memory.
And the strength of Ori Danino, Z”L, of blessed memory.
May their memory always be for a blessing,
And may their strength always be for a reminder,
A reminder of what the Jewish people are capable of.
The war between good and evil is a battle of wills.
These six brave men and women had a strength like no other, and now we must draw upon their sacred resolve so that we may carry on this battle and liberate all of G-d’s children held in captivity.
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Spread love, Spread light,
Am Yisrael Chai
Beautiful and tragic truth.