>> Read all messages from Zehava Galon
Passover is here. I wanted to write to you about the regime revolution that is continuing in full force, about all our achievements this past year, about the reckless distribution of guns, about police violence and the shrinking democratic space. I wanted to write to you about Iran and the pogroms carried out by the settlers in the territories – all relevant, scary, and burning issues, but I will not write about any of them.
And the reason I won’t do it is that there can be no Festival of Freedom without the hostages back and that the words of the Haggadah taste like ash in the mouth. We don’t even know how many hostages are still alive, how many of them have survived the hellish last six months. We only know about the conditions of their captivity, about rape, about fluorescent lights that burn day and night and are never switched off. We know about hunger and lack of medicine, about beatings and humiliations. We know about hostages forced to clean the houses of their captors and we know about slavery.
I make sure to read and watch the testimonies of the hostages who returned. It keeps me awake at night, but I cannot help doing it. I mainly think about their families, who both know and don’t know what their dear ones are going through, who hope for the best and guess the worst. I think about their families on Seder night, those whose loved ones are dead and those whose loved ones are still in captivity, about tables with half their chairs empty. How many such families are there? How can one talk about freedom in such a situation? How can one celebrate?
I don’t want this to sound like a message of condolences to mourners sitting shiva. There is something we can do and we have a responsibility toward these people. We know that the Prime Minister has sabotaged every possible deal for their release. We know it because members of the negotiating teams told us as much. We know that time is running out for the hostages. They were abandoned by the Israeli state, which failed to be there for them. Some probably hoped that the country that let them down momentarily would in no time pull itself together and come to their rescue.
That hope has been dashed for many of them, but we must not disappoint the rest. They must not be allowed to become yet another victim in Netanyahu’s war to keep his job. We must not resign ourselves to such an outcome, which is what too many people are doing.
Go out and demonstrate, go meet these families. This is the hardest thing you will ever do in your life, but do it anyway. This is what being Israeli means at the moment. Otherwise, all talk about “solidarity” is empty words thrown to the wind.
We can save them. It’s on us.
Yours,
Zehava Galon