November 28 marks a year since my release from Hamas captivity. From the moment I returned, stepping onto this land at the Kerem Shalom crossing, I've been asking: where was the army on October 7? Where was the state that abandoned an entire region in the south, including my community, Nir Oz?
Calling for the release of hostages in front of Netanyahu's home
(Photo: Sharon Zur)
I am not here today to recount the 53 days of horror and hell I endured in Khan Younis, but the echoes of weapons being cocked and the shouts of "Death to the Jews" from thousands surrounding the Hamas vehicle just before my release and transfer to the Red Cross still resonate in my ears. I am here, and I consider it a miracle—every day anew—a miracle for me, my beloved family, and those who were freed from captivity at the end of November 2023.
A year has passed, bringing few blessings and many curses, and the feeling of abandonment only grows stronger day by day. Who would have imagined that 101 hostages still languish inside Gaza tunnels? The army fights and goes beyond its capabilities and strength. Our soldiers—our sons—fall and get injured, all to restore what little dignity we citizens have left. Our troops, with courage and endless sacrifice, seek more than anything to bring the captives home safely.
101 men and women, young and old, soldiers, cry out without their voices being heard, pleading for us to do everything to bring them home. 29 of those calling to us are members of my beloved community, Nir Oz, shattered to pieces on that dreadful Saturday.
Recently, two videos of Sasha Trupanov were released, in which he begs us to do everything—absolutely everything—to bring him back. Sasha was my student, as were Dolev Yehud, Nadav Popplewell, Carmel Gat, and many others, and their bitter fate has, to my horror, come to our doorstep.
Sadly, I must say, the citizens want, ask, and cry out from every possible platform, traveling the world, pleading for the rescue of our hostages. But our government is utterly deaf. It has ears but does not hear. It has eyes but does not see. This callousness is beyond comprehension for any rational or compassionate person. 101 parents, children, grandparents, and siblings have been held for a year in subhuman conditions. Who knows what they endure daily? So many opportunities have arisen to negotiate deals and bring them home, but nothing has been done.
The days pass, the seasons change—winter is here. How can we look into the eyes of the kidnapped families—my neighbors in the building, Sylvia and Luis Cunio, whose two sons, David and Ariel, are still in captivity? How can we look into the eyes of our grandchildren and tell them: when you enlist and serve, we will do everything to prevent the worst from happening to you?
Ada Sagi Photo: Ryan Preus We did not educate them to abandon others. Abandonment of Gaza border region communities on that cursed day and ongoing neglect of captives have unraveled the delicate thread of trust that I and many of us have, who come and cry out weekly, on Saturday nights, the fragile trust between us and the government. A government elected in democratic elections, but unfortunately, a government that has lost its moral compass and conscience.
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I was naive to think and hoped with all my heart that there would be more deals like the seven rounds, during the fifth of which I was released. But it was not so. I have been interviewed on radio stations and television channels, spoke endlessly, told my story everywhere, but even I have run out of words. Only tears remain.
With all my strength, I still cling to the fading hope and cry out loudly: Liberate them all, now! How can we look into the eyes of the families of those still in captivity? How can we look into the eyes of our grandchildren and tell them: when you enlist, we will do everything to prevent the worst from happening to you?
First published: 06:28, 11.26.24