More than 400 days and nights have passed since Naama was kidnapped to Gaza. Too much time has gone by since that dark Saturday when Naama, my daughter, and her friends were dragged by Hamas terrorists onto the back of a jeep and taken into the Gaza Strip. The difficulty and longing grow with each passing day, my worry churns my stomach, and the fear for her fate is relentless. Despite this, I have one clear goal: bringing her home now. Reality does not allow me to succumb to despair, leaving no choice but to find inner strength anew each day.
A rally demanding the release of Naama Levy
Patients as a source of support and strength
At the beginning of our struggle—the families of the hostages—I questioned how I could care for the health of others when my concern was focused on Naama’s situation. I wondered if it was possible to manage a patient's distress while my daughter was in genuine distress. I found that meeting with patients in the clinic actually helps me cope with reality. The essence of my work as a family doctor is to be attentive to patients' difficulties and to alleviate their pain.
I chose this profession to ease the suffering of others and to solve their problems. During this period, I discovered that the core of my profession helps me deal with my situation. Helping others alleviate their challenges acts as a balm for my own personal distress.
In family medicine, a significant relationship develops that benefits not only the patient but also the caregiver. During this time, the boundaries defining which side of the table the patient is on and which side the caregiver is on become blurred. My patients mean a great deal to me. They are a source of support and strength. Therefore, despite the constant difficulty, confusion, and worry, I manage to find a special place for them in my heart.
Some patients enter my office cautiously, apologizing for troubling me with something like a sore throat. I reassure them, explaining that the opportunity to care for them helps me address my own difficulties. I understand their questions and confusion, but I chose to continue working as a doctor, so patients can and should approach me with any problem—from the smallest to the largest. I also understand and hold no grudge against patients who felt uncomfortable sitting across from me and chose to switch to another family doctor.
It's not always easy, and there are times when I struggle to find the strength to give to others. As a doctor, I have the ability to decide how to manage interactions with patients, and my extensive experience over the years allows me to recognize those moments, set boundaries, and refer patients to a colleague or external medical consultant if necessary.
The desire to strengthen and help is always present—from colleagues and peers and from patients at the clinic in Even Yehuda. Support is expressed in many ways, from preparing meals and offering treats to larger-scale efforts such as protests and marches for the release of Naama and the other hostages.
Silence of global health bodies
Many are aware of the physical and mental implications of prolonged captivity under extreme and harsh conditions. In my case, my clinical knowledge and medical training might make it even harder for me. It's not easy, but I must choose—as much as possible—where to direct my thoughts. Dwelling on the "unknown" can exacerbate the difficulty.
"At every street corner, I imagine both of us together after she returns from that accursed place. Until then, I speak to Naama in my mind, strengthening her and reminding her that she is a true survivor and that despite the hardship and suffering, her thoughts should focus on the good days that will come when she gets out of there."
I don't know where Naama is, under what conditions she is held, what she is going through, or her medical and physiological state. I must learn to cope with the uncertainty. In the past two weeks, I've met with many doctors who have joined the fight, calling for the release of the hostages as soon as possible, not only because it's the state's moral duty to its citizens but also due to the urgent medical distress and harsh conditions they endure in captivity.
Unfortunately, the global medical community's voice is almost silent. The massacre on October 7, the hostages' health status, and the lack of medical team access to them contradict every standard and international law. I met on various occasions with the president of the Red Cross and the chairman of the World Health Organization, and I wasn't impressed that the hostage issue is a priority for them. The only thing they offered was a hug and a little empathy. It's not enough. We demand clear statements and actions to improve the humanitarian and medical conditions of the hostages. Global health bodies remain silent, and as a doctor, the disappointment is unbearable.
Speaking to Naama in my mind
I constantly imagine the moments of Naama's return and life with her after this difficult period. The visions seem so realistic. When I walk with Naama's younger sister, I can't help but think about how the meeting between them will look. At every step and every street corner, I imagine both of us together after she returns from that accursed place. Until then, I speak to Naama in my mind, strengthening her and reminding her that she is a true survivor and that despite the hardship and suffering, her thoughts should focus on the good days that will come when she gets out of there.
In recent days, we, women and mothers, including mothers and relatives of hostages, have initiated a series of non-violent actions and a silent protest aimed at influencing decision-makers to reach a deal and release our children. This is not a political protest, nor is it a call for refusal or disobedience. We call on the general public to join us and fight until everyone comes home now. We have no other choice.
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