The world isn't the same without Korin Elal in it. I was actually thinking of posting this song before I heard of Korin's death after battling cancer. I listened to it quite a lot in the past year, the lyrics piercing in me more than before, not to mention the unforgettable melody. It's a song of radical vulnerability and Korin never shied away from who she was or what she felt. She will be dearly missed.
IndieCity is back, and this season is dedicated to the Gaza Envelope. Seven music videos were filmed at various places in the Gaza Envelope and one in Hostages Square in Tel Aviv. Check them all out here. "In the Place Where I Live" is taken from Jimbo J's latest album, which was completed just before October 7th and features texts about his life in Kibbutz Or HaNer (just outside of Sderot). Since filming this clip, he's returned to the kibbutz with his family, to the same beautiful landscape but to a very different reality. I've been thinking a lot about the families in the Gaza Envelope. In many cases, the parents grew up somewhere else but fell in love with the landscape, the laid-back atmosphere, and the opportunity to live in a community with like-minded neighbors. How aware were they of the threat from Gaza? Up until October 7th, there was a common saying that life in the area was 99% heaven and 1% hell, a peaceful life that was sometimes interrupted by a heavy round of rockets during which families often packed up and left for a quieter place in the country, usually for about a week or so. The biggest threat was tunnels leading into Israel but that had been solved by the IDF's above-and-bellow-ground barrier, and in any case, families were reassured that they were being protected by the army. Amir Tibon, who moved to Kibbutz Nachal Oz with his wife in 2014 and started a family there, describes in his moving memoir "The Gates of Gaza" not just his father's heroic journey to rescue his family on October 7th but also how life was in the kibbutz dating back to its founding in 1953. The book also gives a clear-eyed account of Israel's (and specifically Netanyahu's) relationship with Hamas and what led to this sense of quiet and security. It's still not clear how things will develop in the South, and in the North, but I doubt that families living by the border will be reassured again by "quiet will be answered with quiet".
*English subtitles are available in the video's settings
In memory of the beautiful souls ruthlessly murdered on October 7th. This heartbreaking video first aired about two weeks after the massacre when the fate of so many festival-goers was still unclear. Ofir Tzarfati, who was celebrating his 27th birthday at the festival, was declared dead in late November and on December 1st the IDF announced that it had rescued his body from Gaza. Ruth Peretz, 16, born with cerebral palsy and muscular dystrophy, was a fixture at music raves and was confirmed dead after many days of uncertainty. Inbar Heyman, 27, volunteered at the festival as a "helper", assisting those who felt unwell. In December her family was informed of her murder in captivity. Mia Schem, 22, was released in late November and has said that she can't begin her recovery until the remaining hostages return home, a statement echoed by other hostages who were released.
Although this beautiful song wasn't released as a memorial song, it quickly became one and was often played on the radio on quiet days after terrorist attacks and at memorial ceremonies. Because of the lyrics, up until October 7th it was often associated with surviving the Holocaust and the forest that I would see in my mind when listening to it was in Eastern Europe. Now I see in my mind the Reim forest and when I listen to the lyrics I think of the hostages in the tunnels yearning to be free. We won't be able to see the light until they will be able to see the light.
It's not exactly a joyous new year. Yesterday afternoon right before heading out to the family Rosh Hashana dinner news broke that eight IDF soldiers had died in battle in Lebanon while fighting Hezbollah operatives and later in the evening we learned more about the victims who were murdered in Tuesday's terror attack at a light rail station in Jaffa. Of course, the main topic of conversation at the dinner was Iran's heavy missile attack and where it had caught us. I was at my mom's place and when the sirens began we headed with our two dogs to the stairs, trying to calm them down. They had gotten used to a siren here and there but could sense that this was clearly different. I bumped into a neighbor I always chat with and we settled into our usual small talk as if we were just waiting for the elevator and not taking cover from missiles. "They better not start with this again tomorrow, I have so much cooking to do!" she said, and at that moment I felt that things were going to be okay. As Peer Tasi sings, who knows what tomorrow will bring, we can only hope for the best and take comfort in being with our loved ones. Here's to a much better year ahead. ♥
I thought of this clip recently which is taken from Pablo Rosenberg and Gal Toren's very successful show 'Trip after the Army'. In the first season they followed in the footsteps of young Israelis just out of the army who traveled to India, and in later seasons they went to South America and Japan, always combining their curiosity for new places with humor and their love for singing with people. In the 5th season they traveled throughout the country and this clip was filmed in Rehaniya, a Circassian town near the border of Lebanon. In the episode the mother explains that they are Muslims who make an effort to preserve their Circassian heritage - at school, the kids learn Circassian, Hebrew, Arabic, and English. While they preserve their Circassian culture they are also part of Israeli society and Pablo and Gal chose to sing this Shlomo Artzi classic after hearing from the mother how much she loves him, and also after she told them about her late husband who passed away three years earlier. I love everything about this clip but it's painful to realize that visiting Rehaniya is unthinkable today, a situation that needs to be changed though no one can guarantee that this new stage of escalation we're in will really bring life back to normal in Rehaniya and in other towns in the north.
An excellent translation of the full version by Moshe Kaye, taken from LyricsTranslate:
Changes in the weather have caused me to think
that in addition I am also sad about you
near the house that was my home, they have paved a road
I know, something here changes.
Here is a cloud,
similar to other clouds that already passed by and despite it all I still see shapes
Once I would come close
with all my body for your kisses,
I would come to you, to learn everything.
Once there were with me other people
I am left with only their names
the sea also wipes away names - written in the sand.
but now I know,
that despite it all you are with me,
and together, the two of us together, were born.
Changes in the people have made me think
that besides you I don't have anyone to love
near the house that was my home, they have paved a road
I know something about good and evil.
Here is the sea
Similar to another sea, and another sea and thus it will continue.
There is always the sea, there is always a boat.
Once I would come close...
That which you said and which you didn't made me think
That our words are meeting.
Near the house that was my home, they have paved a road
They gave it a name, they always give names.
Here you are also
Sometimes you are similar to the sea, and sometimes no
I've been thinking of this song a lot in the past few weeks, especially as we're nearing the high holidays and the first anniversary since October 7th which is just around the corner and falls this year on the 'terrible days', the time of reflection and soul-searching between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. I went to the hairdresser yesterday and was surprised to hear Stevie Wonder from the speakers. The last time I was there, in early April, there was no music playing and my hairdresser said it would stay that way until all the hostages would return. I don't blame him for putting the music back on, but I still felt a pang in my heart. The last time I went it was a few weeks before Passover and we talked about how hard it was to wish a happy holiday. Indeed, it was a very sad Passover though there was some sense of hope when we read the line 'next year in Jerusalem', surely we would all be together next year, right? Now we're approaching Rosh Hashana and the thought that so many families will be marking the new year without their loved ones is devastating. There's some sense of comfort in the realization that no matter what life moves on and yet, at the same time, it emphasizes just how stuck we all are when we could have been in a different place by now.
Heartbroken to hear of the tragic murder of six of our hostages: Hersh Goldberg-Polin, 23, Eden Yerushalmi, 24, Ori Danino, 25, Alex Lobanov, 32, Almog Sarusi, 27, and Carmel Gat, 40. Heartbroken and also furious, especially after hearing that they were killed by Hamas terrorists just a few days ago and that four of them were meant to be released in the first stage of the proposed hostage deal. For almost 11 months we have been told again and again that only force will bring the hostages back when it's clear that the remaining hostages are now more in danger than ever before. Getting them home alive as soon as possible should be the government's top priority but it clearly isn't and the risk of abandoning them again is too high, not just for them and their families but also for us as a society.
I thought of this chilling song when I heard Rachel Goldberg-Polin and Jon Polin's powerful speech at the DNC, when they recounted how Hersh and his best friend Aner went to the Nova music festival and found themselves at the Re'im death shelter where dozens were killed but at least seven were saved thanks to Aner's selfless heroism. Aner's parents wanted him to be remembered not just for his death but also for the life he led and the music he made, which he had dreamed of sharing with the world. After his death, Aner's parents and friends went through over 60 of his songs and chose six of them to release in an introductory E.P. Each one of them showcases his immense talent but this song especially reveals who Aner was and how he saw the world. I can't help but wonder if Hersh ever heard these songs back in Aner's room in Jerusalem. After all he had been through he was so close to getting his life back and Jon and Rachel were so close to finally getting their son back home.
People are being murdered on my street
Frightened
Can't you hear it in my voice?
Trying to concentrate on the half-full glass, shit
Again rockets in the air, going into the room
A stainless steel door I don't feel like I belong
But picking up a weapon won't make me feel that I do
For years I dream of seeing everything here quiet, there's no
Rest in my country for anyone
Kids in the Gaza envelope are sitting in a shelter
Operation Protective Edge ended almost exactly 10 years ago and I've been thinking about it a lot this year and especially this past summer. I was 24, just starting my first serious job in Tel Aviv after mandatory army service and a university degree, and was worried about my friends who were serving in Gaza as reservists, not to mention friends whose lives were completely disrupted due to the constant rocket fire, as opposed to what we experienced in the center where there were daily rockets and sirens but for the most part we carried on as best as we could, with the war in the background. For citizens south of Tel Aviv it was a completely different story and the children who suffered from intense rocket fire are now young adults, many of them serving in the IDF alongside reservists who were soldiers back then. I can't help but also think of the children on the other side of the border- what has become of the young adults who were children in 2014? What will be of the young adults in 10 years, who were children in a terrible reality today?
Each war has its own soundtrack and though released a few months before the war, this phenomenal song received significant airplay on the radio during that awful summer, fitting with the war atmosphere of the time. I only found out a few years ago that it uses a sample of the Yarkon Trio's 1964 cover of Peet Seeger's 'Where Have All the Flowers Gone', in the part where they sing 'When will they ever learn?'. When will we ever learn?
Where did you go my love?
I'm right beside you
Where is the mother, my mother?
You have been alone for some time
What about the good and soft sun?
It sunk as it rose
If so tell me, tell me if so
Everything is already told, stored, filed, and reported.
I hear horsemen again
You don't hear anything
And a bitter smell arises from the noise
And it will go and get stronger
Why am I cold, so cold?
It's not very complicated
You're familiar yet so far
You are next to yourself
I'm right beside you
If this is just a drill
It's truly a successful one
The skies are painted in vanilla
The horizon is ashen
Everything comes back redder
From the trenches and in the towers
Tell me, are we winning?
When exactly did all this happen?
While you all were writing songs
And what about them, if we're already talking?
They are left to those who remember
So basically, nothing happened
So basically, everything is in order
You were always willing to compromise
You are breaking my heart, I'm right beside you
If this is just a drill, it's truly a successful one
The skies are painted in vanilla
The horizon is ashen
Everything comes back redder, in stretchers and flowers
I recently came across Jimbo J's moving cover of this song, as part of Beit Avi Chai's wonderful "Song of Hope" series. Some of the episodes are translated into English here. I rediscovered Shabak Samech's timeless hit from 2000 and just had to share this wild video clip, so fitting for these strange and challenging days.
The road is long and winding
I fall down and rise
I will never stop walking
I fall down and rise
Passing one bridge after another
I fall down and rise
How long the road is...
I stand with my head raised
They say love is one in a million
They say there's no chance the sun will shine on me
They say I'll fall, that I'll run away
They say I'll be left alone
That I don't fit with life
Because I lack the desire for gold and jewels
I don't have the right cards
Maybe it's society that crumbles
If this place isn't right for rainbow seekers
For those who ignore the signs of the times
And where is my star?
People, I exist
To you I may seem without value
But I have a soul, I have a song, I have the way
The road is long and winding...
Before me a column of fire, behind me clouds of smoke
I left a city of metal behind, where am I going?
To a place where the sun is not hidden by buildings
At a loss of words to describe the sorrow I felt upon hearing of the tragedy at Majdal Shams, and upon seeing the names and faces of the 12 young victims, aged between 10 to 16. When I woke up with a heavy heart I felt the urge to hear this song and I've been thinking about it all day. It was originally performed by Chava Alberstein a few years after the Yom Kippur War, and this version, sung beautifully by Dikla and Akram Odeh, is part of a show by The Revolution Orchestra featuring 20 love songs performed in Hebrew and Arabic for the first time. From the show's description: "Through the translation into the other language, we will get closer and farther away, move between the familiar and the foreign, hear our love songs in a different way, and create a common dialogue."
Yardena Arazi said in an episode of "One Song" about this song that it was born after she experienced the First Lebanon War up close and performed for troops there. She found herself singing "A Song for Peace" with an enthusiastic group of reserve soldiers and asked herself, as many Israelis were asking at the time, "What are we doing here?" She asked Ehud Manor to write her a song to capture the frustration with the ongoing war and the growing list of fallen soldiers, an all too familiar feeling. "Back home" has become associated with the return of the hostages and after almost 300 days it's time to return home.
Another year has passed,
another year of madness,
the weeds have grown in the path and the garden.
The wind sighed
opening the shutter
and banging the old wall,
as if calling:
Back home, back home,
it's time to return,
from the mountains
from foreign fields.
The day is fading and there is no sign.
Back home, back home,
before the light is dimmed.
Cold nights,
bitter nights,
closing in now.
Until the dawn
I pray for you,
bound in the grip of fear
I hear steps.
Back home, back home,
because it hasn't yet been given
as was promised a long time ago.
Beautiful translation by Dimi Chris over at LyricsTranslate.
There's recently been a flood of new Israeli music, a welcoming sign, but I still find myself drawn to the familiar classics which have given me comfort in the past nine months. Shalom Hanoch wrote this beautiful song in memory of his nephew who died during his military service in a training accident in 1980. While I was aware of the song in the past, the lyrics understandably resonate differently, especially on uncertain days like today.
Brilliant translation by Youtube user @Trans_Lator:
So sad to hear of pop star Adam's death at 64, after a long battle with lung cancer. He left behind this statement: "If you are reading these words, it means that I am in a world that is all good, that's how they say, I can't recommend it yet. I want to thank you for the wonderful and unbelievable journey in this life. I did a lot, I went for it, and I went to the limit in everything, in love, in friendships, in creation. I have a few unfinished dreams left but not a lot. Thank you for the love, thank you for every person I met, or influenced in one way or another, thank you for the life. If I wasn't able to help from below in returning the hostages, I will try to act from above. Be good, love you."
He performed this lovely song in 1989 for the Festigal, a Hannukah show for children, back when it was a song contest and unsurprisingly it won first place. We won't forget you Adam ♥
People make mistakes in the darkness, pouring rain
They are silent, they are lonely
They forgot the miracle of happiness that was promised
When they were still children.
Don't forget, don't forget to feel and to see
Don't stop dreaming, hoping
Don't forget, don't forget to pity and to cry
Don't forget to love and to live.
I too was a child a long time ago
When I was better
And I forget the light blue in front of the cloud
But you, don't give up.
Don't forget, don't forget to feel and to see
Don't stop dreaming, hoping
Don't forget, don't forget to pity and to cry
Don't forget to love and to live.
When you grow up you'll still be a child in your own way
When Tamir Grinberg released this touching song way back in January he wrote:
When I wrote this song, I didn't think I would release it. I didn't there would still be hostages. I wrote it while the first hostage release deal was taking place, thinking this way or another, they would all come back. Now, I'm releasing this song to sound this message - bring them home, bring you home.
Now.
It's our duty and responsibility."
It's been 6 months since then and a few days ago he released this beautiful live version, the words still relevant today. When I listen to the song I think of the families of the hostages and today I am thinking of Ayelet Levy whose daughter Naama Levy is 20 years old today. A 20th birthday is always a special occasion, marking the beginning of a transformative decade. For most Israelis, it's also one of the last birthdays while still serving in the army, before life really begins. Naama still has so much ahead of her, as her mother said in a speech she gave in March: "One terrible video unrelated to the Naama we knew before October 7 turned Naama into everyone's daughter. Every previous video of Naama before that morning was full of joy, laughter, and optimism. Dancing with her friends, laughing with her brothers and sister, talking about peace as part of a peace-seeking delegation, and playing with refugee children in the kindergarten where she volunteered. Naama is a quiet, determined sportswoman, full of compassion and emotion. An optimistic girl who dreamed of making the world a better place. A girl who believes in the good in people, which I still believe in too.... Naama should be on this stage instead of me, presenting her vision for an equal and just world. For her sake, for Naama, do not stop demanding what is right. Do not stop saying her name."
Nightmares, afraid of sleeping
Voices, I hear them all
Please know that I've been thinking about you all along
Ran Danker's bold new single speaks for itself but here are parts from an interview he gave earlier this week which provide a bit more context:
"This song was written a year ago, during the legal revolution. There was an internal urge of mine amidst all the anger and frustration to add to it and say 'What a fear, we're in a free fall and we don't see that we're losing our language with each other'. And then October 7 came and made it more tangible".
Listening to his song, I'm reminded of how I felt when I went to bed on October 6th, not fearing a security incident, but fearing how the Simchat Torah celebrations the next day would play out in Tel Aviv, after the clashes on Yom Kippur due to forced gender segregation in Dizengoff Square. I looked at the news before going to bed and there was a notification that the police had called up extra forces to be on guard in Tel Aviv, should things get out of hand...
"I think it's kind of a warning sign for all of us," Danker says of the song in the interview. "It's a place to say that we need to find a new language, that we're tired of the language of divisiveness and everything that leads us to not seeing each other because of people's cynical interests. We the people must find our new language because we have lost it. In this song, I talk about not wanting to leave this place. I want to make an effort and find another, creative way to another language".
The truth is, at this point in time I'm apprehensive of any calls for 'unity', especially when said in response to protests and criticism. There can't be real unity if we don't respect each other and our differences. It still feels like each group is fighting for their language to not get silenced, I'm not sure we're ready to create a new language, but we might not have a choice.
I have to admit that while visually beautiful, the sight of people falling from the steps made me uncomfortable, but I guess that's the point. As Danker says, "I think the point is to look reality in the eyes and say 'the fall is already happening, we're already in it' and it could happen a second, third, fourth time, to infinity' I want to believe that it does make people think, to question, to wonder - why are we fighting for this place? In the name of what do we hate each other so much? The difference within us is enormous and that is the beauty. Even if we learn to live with each other here amid Israeli complexity, we need to understand that we are required to take action".
Overwhelmed with joy to hear of the stunning rescue of four hostages abducted from the Nova festival: Noa Argamani, Almog Meir Jan, Andrey Kozlov, and Shlomi Ziv. ♥♥♥♥
With all the happiness and excitement, 120 hostages are still held in Gaza. We can't forget them and we can't turn down a hostage deal that will bring all of them back.
Yehuda Poliker released this song in 2001 during the Second Intifada and sadly the lyrics, written by Yaakov Gilad, have never felt more relevant with the tense situation in the North and the dire situation in the South. I came across this moving performance from a concert Poliker gave a few weeks ago, here is what he says at the beginning:
"We're going through a difficult time. It's not clear whether the war in Gaza is over or not. But what it means is that the hostages still aren't here and our heroic soldiers are still getting hurt over there. I call from here for the return of all the hostages, and immediately. And let's also hope that all the soldiers will return safely and that the situation will improve and be good. And that the new Middle East will really be new, and it will be fun to live here."
Earlier this week at the Memorial Eve ceremony at the city square I was struck by how different the atmosphere was from last year. Last year it was a moment to stop day-to-day life and acknowledge the heavy price of the soldiers who lost their lives, it was a sad night but I remember talking carelessly afterward with a friend, discussing our Independence Day plans and moving on. This year it felt that there was no day-to-day life to stop, it was more like a darker day among dark days, in which we heard the painful stories from our fellow city residents, our neighbors, who for them it was their first Memorial Day as bereaved family members in the inner circle of grief. I couldn't help but think of a line I read that somberly stated that in this region, the only difference between a bereaved family and one that isn't is time. It could happen to any of us.
This year's Independence Day also had a very different vibe, with broadcasters airing a pre-recorded torch-lighting ceremony while showing images of the alternative torch-dousing ceremony happening in real time. It was painful to see the ceremony split into two but I understand why it was done. The organizers wrote in a statement "While the government is holding an ostentatious parade which is cowardly, contemptuous, disconnected and without an audience, families of the hostages and concerned citizens hold a dignified and appropriate ceremony that's plugged into the public sentiment". Daniela Spector was one of the singers at the event and when she performed this timeless song I felt a chill run down my spine, the lyrics echoing in my head ever since.
When the 10th season of Rising Star started at the end of November I don't think anyone thought that we would still be at war by the Eurovision final and that there would still be 132 hostages in captivity, among them an unclear number of living hostages. And yet, here we are. We did know that we would still be coping with the aftermath of October 7th and the songwriters who wrote Hurricane for Eden Golan, the winner of Rising Star, knew that the Eurovision semi-final and final would be held during the reflective days of our memorial week which started last Sunday with Holocaust Memorial Day and will continue tomorrow evening with Yom HaZikaron, Israel's Memorial Day for fallen soldiers and victims of terror. Yom HaZikaron will end on Monday evening with Independence Day celebrations, a shift that has always been difficult and understandably will be much more difficult this year, even with toned-down celebrations. There's already been a change in the air as we're getting ready for Memorial Day and 'Hurricane' manages to not only honor the the memory of those who have lost their lives but also capture the feelings of so many of us during this challenging year. It was clear throughout the season of Rising Star that Eden is a star performer and she gave a phenomenal performance at the semi-final. Eden, no matter what happens tonight you're already our winner, thank you for shining a light during the darkness.
Writer of my symphony
Play with me
Look into my eyes and see
People walk away but never say goodbye
Someone stole the moon tonight
Took my light
Everything is black and white
Who's the fool who told you boys don't cry
Hours and hours, empowers
Life is no game but it's ours
While, the time goes wild
Everyday I'm losing my mind
Holding on in this mysterious ride
Dancing in the storm
I got nothing to hide
Take it all and leave the world behind
Baby promise me you'll hold me again
I'm still broken from this hurricane
This hurricane
Living in a fantasy, ecstasy
Everything is meant to be
We shall pass but love will never die
Hours and hours, empowers
Life is no game but it's ours
While, the time goes wild
Everyday I'm losing my mind
Holding on in this mysterious ride
Dancing in the storm
I got nothing to hide
Take it all and leave the world behind
Baby promise me you'll hold me again
I'm still broken from this hurricane
This hurricane
Don't need big words
Just prayers
Even if it's hard to see
You always leave one single light
Voters outside of Israel can vote for Eden, no.6, here.
Ninet Tayeb wrote this chilling and beautiful song before October 7th and was asked to share it for the must-see documentary "Screams Before Silence". As she wrote in her Facebook post, "It was clear to me the song had found its purpose, music that is part of the tragic and unbearably difficult story of those women and girls who experienced the worst of all. Their story is the story of us all. On October 7th, it seems that the entire nation of Israel felt the need to be reborn".
Tuna is back with a moving song that manages to capture the feelings of instability and uncertainty that we've all felt in one way or another in the past six months. Tuna being Tuna, he also offers much-needed comfort during this challenging time, which in many ways feels more difficult than the chaotic weeks right after October 7th. I posted a while back Tuna's mega-hit 'This Too Shall Pass' and recently discovered that it's one of the songs on a playlist created by Carmel Gat's friends, of songs that she loved and would share with them. Carmel, an occupational therapist, was taken hostage on October 7th from her parents' house in Kibbutz Be'eri and had recently returned to Israel after a few months in India. It was reported from hostages released in November that Carmel was held captive together with children and would practice yoga with them. I can only hope that in the long months that have passed she has been able to somehow take care of herself, mentally and physically. Like DJ JuVi says at the end of the song, the East is wilder than ever but we're pushing through, continuing with all our strength because there is really no other choice.
The IDF entered Gaza, so I went to my dad's for a while
On the background of chakalaka, paka paka, Mada, Zaka
A contract is over, which is a sign that we'll end the saga
And I don't have a roof, which is a sign that I probably have no ground
And I don't have any motivation, and I'm also not in the mood
As if it wasn't tense enough, we got into another argument
So there is no one place right now, there is no safe place
Feeling disappointed by the world, it feels like there is no supervision
Feeling disappointed by the world, I rated the hospitality
What was so urgent for them to bite the apple?
Who likes changes anyway? Not me
Winter is coming, I'm wandering, a gypsy
A homeless superstar, a vegetarian carnivore
From home to the parents and from there to an Airbnb
Between the city and the orchard, on roads under fire
Where will the wind blow? It's still impossible to guess
The future is still unclear so this rap is dedicated
To anyone like me who is searching
To anyone who needs a new route
And is stuck in Beirut because of the Waze disruptions
All that's left is to embrace
What's been left behind
Between the city and the orchard
I'm looking for a place again
A place I am happy to return to
And just as I'm relaxed on the mic
Between us, I'm still trying really hard
It hurt too much to see, a home here is just walls
Huge shows, there was a place to escape to
Only when everything stopped did I process what I'd been through
Slowly I became someone I didn't know
I disappeared into myself so it wouldn't hurt you So it wouldn't hurt me, yes, that's very romantic
My heart is broken but the time has come for me to choose me
The house is empty now like Salame is empty of the Barby
Home, home, home, I have a home in my heart
I didn't have it, I didn't know it was possible, it's natural
I didn't know I deserved a place even without it
That I would have to save everyone around me
What is home, home, home? Not walls, not pots
Not familiar smells, not the northern or the southern landscape
It's just where it feels good to be me
And fences don't suddenly break down just like that
I've been thinking of this song ever since it was released in January, and I've been thinking of it in the past few weeks. I know it was written during a time when many soldiers were killed while protecting the country, but when I hear the sadness in Assaf Amdursky's voice I think of all the innocent lives lost in Gaza. Too many flowers, too many open wounds.
I thought about it again today when I heard the tragic news that the hostage Elad Katzir from Kibbutz Nir Oz was murdered in captivity. His father Rami was murdered on October 7th and his mother Hanna was also kidnapped and was released in poor condition in late November, and is still being treated at a hospital. To think that after all she has been through she has now lost her son, her star, is too much to bear.
I remember finding out through a moving video posted by Lola Marsh that they are Noa Argamani's favorite band and her favorite song is "She's a rainbow". This was on Noa's 26th birthday on October 12th, more than three months ago, and she is still held captive by Hamas with no hostage deal in sight. After several delays, the academic year started earlier this month, including at Ben-Gurion University, where Noa is a third-year engineering student. I can't even begin to imagine what her family is going through and what it is like for her friends to start the academic year without her, without knowing how she is, especially after hearing about the terrifying conditions in captivity from the hostages who came back.
A few days ago I came across this letter posted by The Free Press, written by Merav Svirsky before the heartbreaking news of her brother's death:
My name is Merav Svirsky. I'm an Israeli yoga teacher and artist. I was born and raised in Kibbutz Be'eri. On October 7 my life changed forever. Both of my parents, Orit and Rafi, were brutally murdered by the Hamas terrorists. My brother Itai (38) was kidnapped from my mother's home, and he's been held hostage in Gaza ever since. My two other brothers survived the attack, and so did my 97-year-old grandmother. Her Philippine caregiver, Grace, was murdered trying to protect her. My husband is also from Be'eri, and most of his family survived. His beloved aunt, who was a neighbor of my mother, was murdered too. Both of our families, those who survived, are now refugees in our own country. Our home was destroyed, our lives shattered.
It's inconceivable that Itai is still in Gaza. One hundred days. Writing this number makes me shiver. In the past three months, the people of Israel have been demonstrating an amazing spirit of volunteering - contributing to the war effort, supporting the refugees, helping each other. But now, people are gradually getting back to their "normal life". My greatest fear is this return to "normal life"- for our family, and for the families of the other 135 hostages, life has frozen and will not resume until our beloved ones return home alive. We're not post-traumatic, because we're in the middle of an ongoing trauma. We're under a continuous terror attack, every minute of every day.
October 7 has taught me that I cannot trust anyone and anything. I lost trust in my country, in my government, in my army. The only way to restore (some of) the lost trust is to bring them home now.
In the past three months, the Israeli leadership has been talking about achieving victory against Hamas. There's no such thing. We lost this war. My family lost this war on October 7. But although we cannot win the war, we can feel hope again. Hope should be the goal, not victory. And that hope can only be achieved by returning the hostages home. Now.
I have two sons, Eilam (7) and Keinan (4.5). They know so many people who are dead. Dozens. A few weeks ago they had a discussion between them about Itai, their beloved uncle. Eilam was arguing that he was not going to come back "because everyone else who had disappeared ended up being dead." For the future of my children - for their ability to hope - Itai must return home. Nothing is more important than that, for the future of my children, for the future of my family, and for the future of my country.
If you're still there, make a wish
And I will ask too
And if you hear my voice in a dream
I won't give up on you
And the days go by
And the nights are hard
My heart is bleeding and my soul is already broken
Until you'll come back
I won't let go, I won't rest
And until you return
I'll search for you in spirit
Writing more letters
Maybe there will be ahead
Better days
We sang your favorite song
We went out in the morning to see the sunrise
To feel a bit more alive
Your smell is still in bed
I feel you between the sheets
My heart is already becoming gray
They took away my hero
They're asking again where is dad and I have no answer
Until you'll come back
I won't let go, I won't rest
And until you return
I'll search for you in spirit
Writing more letters
Maybe there will be ahead
Better days
We sang your favorite song
And again in the dream you dance and disappear
And again I'm hiding my tears from everyone
Screaming, crying, making your voice heard for the world
It's been a tough day. We woke up to the news that four IDF soldiers were killed fighting in Gaza. I quickly checked to make sure there was no one I knew. I checked again at noon when five more names of fallen soldiers were released, all reservists who had stopped their lives to fight for us. Later in the evening I heard their stories and saw footage from a few of the funerals that took place today, parents mourning their 19-year-old son, a young woman mourning her partner: "We were supposed to create a family together, now I have joined the family of the bereaved".
One glimmer of light during this heavy day is the recent news that Idan Amedi, who was seriously injured in an explosion in Gaza, has regained consciousness, with his condition now defined as moderate. I saw Idan in concert at the end of September, a spontaneous decision I made with a friend since we wanted to enjoy an open-air concert before the winter, a decision we're both so grateful for. I wasn't sure how it would be since I was only familiar with a few of his songs, but I was won over by his immense talent and his natural ability to bring the crowd together, to make us all feel like a united group. I love how this video captures Idan's warmth and dedication, always giving 110% percent, and always performing with all his heart.
Some of the time I had concerns about what
I wanted to say and didn't, maybe I never will
In a small window in front of me, she's staring at the streetlights
How during the day they are lonely and how at night they come back to life
And sometimes it also happens to me at nights
To think about all that I wanted to be
And sometimes it's a kind of familiar smile
That helps me to make peace with what is now over
Sometimes when she's just watching the girls
It's so hard for me to hold in the tears
All those in shades of purple and green
Remind me that the good is not far anymore
It is not far anymore...
Some of the time I had clear decisions
That I will begin to be happy, to let go of all that is no more
In a small window in front of me, she's staring at the old city
