A Jewish Heart, A Human Story

Two years. Two years of waking up and falling asleep with this weight in my heart. Not a day has passed where I haven’t thought of the hostages… the families, the uncertainty, the pain, and the hope. I haven’t spoken about it much publicly, but it’s been part of my consciousness every single day.

Selfishly, maybe one reason this feels so close to me is because it could have been anyone. It could have been someone in my family. It could have been someone I know.

We were so grateful for our time in Israel a couple of years ago… Scott and I, and our three kids… all of us, in different ways, exploring, experiencing, connecting with Israel for our first time.

We traveled throughout the country. Our older two kids did Birthright, and after they finished, we brought our youngest son with us while our middle son was participating in the Onward program, an internship in Tel Aviv that grounded him in a place that became so dear to him. We shared meals, explored places I had only read about, and experienced the people, the culture, the food, and the history firsthand. It was our first trip to Israel and it made me feel more connected to Israel and to my Judaism.

One evening in Tel Aviv stands out… we had a family dinner. Afterward, two of our kids gave us a hug and headed out to a concert in the desert. I had never heard of such a thing… a concert in the desert. Later, I learned that one of the hostages, Hersh Goldberg-Polin, had kissed his mother, Rachel, goodbye after dinner and went to a similar type of concert in the desert… where terror would follow.

The parallel struck me, painfully. These weren’t faceless names. They were young people with plans, with families, with lives being lived in full, beautiful moments… just like ours.

After her son, Hersh, was kidnapped by Hamas on October 7, 2023, Rachel and her husband, Jon, became tireless advocates for the release of their son and other hostages. Her public advocacy led her to meet with world leaders including President Biden and Pope Francis. She was later named one of Time Magazine’s 100 most influential people in 2024.

Following the devastating confirmation of her son’s murder in August 2024, Rachel has continued to be a moral voice… one of strength, compassion, and extraordinary grace, advocating for healing and unity even in unimaginable pain.

I’ve thought of Rachel often. Her ability to hold sorrow and hope at once, to speak for her son while representing the collective grief of so many others, is awe-inspiring and humbling. She has managed to articulate what feels inarticulable… the horror, the longing, the contradictions of grief and gratitude, the pain and the light that still flickers through it.

Now, as this chapter reaches a kind of close with the last 20 living hostages returned, I feel a surge of relief mingled with sorrow. Relief that all the hostages have been returned. Sorrow for those who died, for the pain their families have endured, for the lives forever changed.

I feel more connected than ever to Israel, to the Jewish people around the world, and to the deep sense of vulnerability that comes from being singled out, being hated, being endangered simply for who you are. To be hated for your identity is a cruelty that defies reason… one that demands reflection, empathy, and courage from all of us.

So I sit in this mix of emotions… gratitude, heartbreak, fear, hope, pride, helplessness. I don’t have simple words, and I don’t want to soften the reality. What I want is to acknowledge, to remember, and to hold space for both the heartbreak and the hope, because both deserve to exist.

And so I write this…

I carry it with me, the love, the loss, the resilience of people who keep choosing life. Am Yisrael Chai... “the people of Israel live.” The word chai itself is sacred in Judaism, symbolizing life. May their memory be a blessing, and may we never lose our sense of humanity or our hope.