"It's a dream that may be slowly becoming a reality. The protesters there are paying the highest price, the price of human life, with everything they have, in fact. These are very brave people who deserve appreciation for what they are doing against all odds. After all, they are dealing with dark forces that throw anyone they want into prison, and kill without reckoning. If the war they are waging now ends in a revolution, and the regime in Iran falls, I feel that the whole world will become brighter - certainly our lives in Israel. There is so much beauty, depth, and color in Persian culture, and I pray that one day all of these will return to be the face of Iran. Of course, I support those who are protesting, am proud of them and pray for them."
I wanted to share these words of hope from Rita, who immigrated to Israel from Iran when she was eight years old and has become one of Israel's top singers, always proud of her Persian heritage. These are days of tense uncertainty. I'm terrified of the fate of Iranians if the regime stays in place and the brutal crackdown that will follow, and how things will play out over here if there's an escalation. As a person who values freedom and secular rights, I can only hope that one day things will be different.
One day it will happen
Without our even noticing it, something will change
Something within us will calm down, something will touch us
And there won't be anything to fear.
And it'll come, like a line engraved in the palm of your hand
It'll come, self-assured
As if it had always been there, waiting for us to notice.
And it'll come, you'll see
Your tightly clutched hands will open
And the heart that guards us from pain will beat regularly again
It'll come, like nature is accustomed
To be at peace with itself.
One day it will happen
Without our even noticing it, something will change
Something within us will calm down, something will touch us
And there won't be anything to fear.
And it'll come, like a line engraved in the palm of your hand
It'll come, self-assured
As if it had always been there, waiting for us to notice.
And it'll come, you'll see
Your tightly clutched hands will open
And the heart that guards us from pain will beat regularly again
Finally! I woke up so excited on Monday and rushed to my mom's place so we could watch the hostage release together. It felt like the whole country had stopped, and it helped that there wasn't work in most places because it was Erev Simchat Torah. Words can't explain how moving it was to see the 20 living hostages released, and to see the emotional reunions with their loved ones. Later in the afternoon, I heard and saw the helicopters bringing some of the hostages to one of the hospitals nearby. It was such a relief after I had become accustomed to hearing them only during emergencies, often carrying wounded soldiers in urgent need of care. For the first time, the released hostages didn't have to rush to send messages delivered from hostages left behind, and they didn't have to advocate for their urgent release after coming back from the nightmare of captivity. For the first time, they could focus on healing and recovery, and so can we. Now we are waiting for the bodies of 18 deceased hostages; 18 families deserve closure and a final goodbye.
I was just thinking that this will be the third October without the beloved InDnegev festival, when I saw an emotional post announcing the return of the festival in November:
Returning home and making hope bloom:
Two years since the world turned upside down for us.
We have all had two difficult and painful years, two years of dealing with endless pain and a lack of clarity about the future.
Work on InDnegev 23 was interrupted just before we reached our destination, and everything stopped.
We are excited and happy to announce that InDnegev is returning home, and we invite you to take part.
This is a call to everyone who is still determined to create hope, determined to dream of peace and a normal life, of a positive and healthy reality. This is a call to activism, to solidarity, to everyone who still has a drop of faith - come make hope bloom with us.
On November 13-15, we will open Mitzpe Gvulot and hold a very special and limited version of InDnegev, a weekend of cultural and artistic activity, a weekend in which we will escape to reality, the one we want and can create.
For the past two years, we have said that we will stay in Mitzpe Gvulot, and that we will wait until all the kidnapped people return and the war is over before we hold the festival again. We have always seen this as part of our mission - to be part of the renewed blooming of the Western Negev, through music, art, and people.
And now, even though everything is still broken and the future is still unclear, we can see a small ray of light. It is time to start creating a space again where we can look deeply into the wounds and begin the process of healing and recovery, allow ourselves to create hope, and allow ourselves to feel compassion.
We intend to do what we have always done: create an open and respectful space, with a diverse and amazing community, with an abundance of ideas. We will set up our stages and, next to them, the conversation tents and the displays, we will bow our heads in the face of the death and destruction of the past two years and raise our heads together to the sounds of hope.
I saw the excellent show "Who by Fire: Leonard Cohen in the Yom Kippur War" last September and remember being so moved when this song began at the end of the evening, after learning how the Yom Kippur War influenced Cohen's life and music. The yellow ribbon, the symbol for remembering the hostages, lit up in the corner, and no words were needed to explain. The show took place at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, and before we entered, we walked through the Hostages Square, which is in front of the museum. I remember the chill down my back when I saw Aviva Siegel sharing her experiences with a circle of listeners, at the time still advocating for the release of her husband, Keith. It reminded me too much of the scenes of holocaust survivors sharing their testimonies, so we will never forget.
When I woke up to the joyous and almost unbelievable news of the ceasefire on Thursday, I thought of all the people I knew whose lives were altered by October 7th and the war in the past two years. I remember hearing the tragic news that a niece of one of my colleagues was murdered at the Nova festival, and a friend's sister came back from it and wouldn't talk about it for weeks. In December 2023, I came to work to learn that the son of one of my colleagues had been killed in Khan Younis, a father to three young children. At the shiva, his father shared how important it was for him to bring back the security to the people living in the Gaza Envelope, and to all of us in Israel. And there was a hope among the soldiers that they would bring the hostages home. For many, it was their motivation to keep going, despite the risk and the challenges. A year and a half later, a son of another colleague began his mandatory army service in the Armored Corps, and understandably, she's been dreadfully worried about what will happen after he finishes his training. She has been going to the Hostage Square Saturday rallies almost every week since the war began, pleading for the return of the hostages and for the war to end in an agreement. And this week it will finally happen. There's a debate going on whether the agreement that was reached could have happened a year ago, or if it was really reached because of the army and the geopolitical changes in the region, as Netanyahu insists. What's clear is that an agreement was reached thanks to Trump's efforts (and we were all holding our breath that it would happen before the announcement of the Nobel Peace Prize winner), and Trump has repeatedly mentioned the protests that have swept the country, built on the principle that we will not tolerate a reality in which our people are abandoned and left behind. My thoughts are with the 42 hostages who were killed in captivity; for 42 families, this will be an understandably difficult time. And yet, hopefully, this will be the beginning of recovery for everyone affected by this war.
Closer than ever, we have reached the most fragile point. If this deal doesn't happen now, we are at risk of losing the remaining hostages, more soldiers will die in battle, and more innocent lives will be lost. For two years, a significant part of the Israeli public has felt that they have been held captive by an extreme minority government that has shown again and again that they are only interested in their own interests, and not the whole country. We're in a surreal situation where the most extreme voices in the government have not reacted to Hamas's declaration because of the Shabbat, and based on the group's vague and problematic statements, it's clear that there is going to be pushback and not everyone will be happy, to say the very least. And yet, we can't miss this opportunity, it's time to come home.
It's almost the Jewish New Year, a time for summaries and looking back at the past year. I highly recommend checking out Guy Hajaj's annual end-of-the-Jewish-year playlist of his favorite Israeli songs, aptly titled 'An ugly year, beautiful songs'. I haven't been following new music as closely as I did in the past, and looking back, this is one of the songs that I remember most from the past year, perhaps because it was released just before the war with Iran, and I would often hear it on the radio while trying to somehow work and carry on. My heart breaks for Talya Dancyg, whose grandfather, Alex Dancyg, was kidnapped and later murdered in Gaza. And yet, it's hard to explain the comfort I felt when I heard her beautiful voice sing that she is not alone. Wishing a much better and different year ahead.
This beautiful song was chosen as the chuppah song at Shir Siegal's wedding a few days ago. A moving soundtrack to an emotional moment that brought tears to my eyes and to many others - seeing Shir's parents, Aviva and Keith Siegal, walk their daughter down the aisle, a long-awaited moment that almost didn't happen. As Shir wrote, "This is the image of victory. And when everyone will be home - that will be total victory. Nothing else".
