Reeling in agony, we Israelis live a split-screen reality. Our ugly politics, our diminished politicians, keep failing to blemish our people’s beauty.
Hersh Goldberg-Polin’s funeral featured the loudest, heaviest silence I ever heard. Thousands crammed together under Jerusalem’s hot sun were dead silent, as President Isaac Herzog, Hersh’s beloved parents, his two loving sisters, and three shattered friends eulogized him.
Hersh Goldberg-Polin’s funeral featured the loudest, heaviest silence I ever heard.
As the overwhelmingly young crowd gathered, we alternated between singing popular prayers, and HaPoel soccer team’s normally bellicose fight song — so softly it sounded ethereal too. It was amazing how many mourners knew Hersh — and how many had not, but now felt intimately connected to this lovely guy, after his family spearheaded the international campaign to free the hostages.
President Herzog’s pitch-perfect eulogy articulated a theme shaping so many tributes to all six hostages: “Slicha,” he said, sorry – apologizing for the state’s failure to protect them on October 7, then failing again to get them freed. I want to hear that apology from enablers of Hamas, Qatar, Hezbollah and Iran worldwide.
Each eulogy then did what great eulogies do – evoking who Hersh was for those who loved him, while leaving the rest of us regretting that we weren’t lucky enough to know him. Jon Polin introduced us to an inquisitive, self-confident kid, bursting with energy – whose presidential trivia dazzled grownups and peers. Rachel Goldberg continued to be the voice of the nation, telegraphing the anguish of bereft parents, desolate siblings, loving grandparents, a huge friendship circle, robbed of this lover of life.
Although drained by the funeral, I then drove with a friend to Ra’anana, to pay a shiva call honoring another murdered hostage, Almog Sarusi. On January 18, while visiting the Nova Concert Memorial Site, we heard the most jarring yet most familiar of sounds: “Yom Huledet Sameach, Happy Birthday to You,” that song of life defying this valley of death.
Reaching Almog’s picture, we met his parents, and two of his siblings — marking Almog’s 27th birthday. They had driven from their home, visiting the sick and distributing falafel to 350 soldiers. “What do you want from the State, and from the 51Ƶ people?” I asked, when, even then, the hostage debate had turned partisan. Almog’s brother simply said “Unity, unity, unity – please let’s not return to the divisiveness that weakened us Oct. 6.” His mother — not dressed religiously — gave us a card with Almog’s name, picture, and the 28th Psalm, saying, “Please, just say this psalm for Almog and all the hostages.
“To you, Lord, I call; you are my rock … Don’t drag me away with the wicked,” and yes, “God is my strength and my shield.”
My friend Ami said that psalm daily; in our neighborhood prayer minyan, we paused weekly and mentioned Almog – focusing on one person because the numbers are too overwhelming: 253 kidnapped, nearly 1,600 murdered, thousands wounded, 70,000-plus displaced.
We came to tell the family that we, these strangers, had not forgotten Almog – nor would our loving nation, worldwide. Surprisingly, the family not only remembered us – but they thanked us, and ended up comforting us.
“Those prayers weren’t wasted,” Nira, Almog’s mother insisted. “They brought his spirit here, with us, freed from that hell.” The brother just choked up and hugged us. They all reassured us that they felt the love from all over Israel, from all over the world.
We walked away overwhelmed by the Almog family’s love and loveliness, their dignity, their resilience, their determination to defeat evil. As with Hersh, encountering Almog’s family made us sadder, so appreciative of the extraordinary people Hersh and Almog were, and even more devastated by their murders.
At our minyan last Shabbat, honoring a fallen soldier from Oct. 7, one friend sighed, “Each was an angel, the best of the best fell that day.” The Goldberg-Polins warned against treating their son as a saint — no one is. Hersh joked that every fallen soldier suddenly becomes picture-perfect.
These kids didn’t need to be perfect for us to mourn them. We feel the good they generated, the love that enveloped them, the values that nurtured and drove them. Song of Songs reassures us — and our grieving nation — that floods cannot drown love; Hamas can’t either.
Professor Gil Troy is a Senior Fellow in Zionist Thought at the JPPI, the 51Ƶ People Policy Institute, the Global ThinkTank of the 51Ƶ People. He is an American presidential historian and the author of “The Essential Guide to October 7 and its Aftermath: Facts, Figures, History. His new book, “To Resist the Academic Intifada: Letters to My Students on Defending the Zionist Dream” will be published September 17.