This piece is part of our Wit­ness­ing series, which shares pieces from Israeli authors and authors in Israel, as well as the expe­ri­ences of Jew­ish writ­ers around the globe in the after­math of Octo­ber 7th.

It is crit­i­cal to under­stand his­to­ry not just through the books that will be writ­ten lat­er, but also through the first-hand tes­ti­monies and real-time account­ing of events as they occur. At Jew­ish Book Coun­cil, we under­stand the val­ue of these writ­ten tes­ti­mo­ni­als and of shar­ing these indi­vid­ual expe­ri­ences. It’s more impor­tant now than ever to give space to these voic­es and narratives.

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For Romi, Emi­ly, and Doron

My tears are nothing

com­pared to the tears of the women

who spent more than a year in hell,

who final­ly escaped through a nar­row gap

in that crush­ing maw of terror. 

My tears are nothing

com­pared to the tears of the mothers

wait­ing to embrace their daughters

for the first time in 471 days.

My tears are nothing

com­pared to the tears of the families

who saw their loved ones’ mur­der­ers set free

so that the liv­ing might become whole.

My tears are nothing

com­pared to the tears of those still waiting

to find out when — if — they will

see their loved ones again.

My tears are nothing

com­pared to the tears of those

who hold both joy and sor­row in their soul,

know­ing that their own

daugh­ters, sons, par­ents, and friends

will nev­er return to their arms.

My tears are nothing,

but they are the tears of a nation

whose heart has been shattered

into count­less untold pieces.

Three of those pieces are home.

Nine­ty-four remain lost.

Thou­sands more are in the ground

or up in smoke, but we car­ry them

with us every day. We car­ry them

because we live, because we must.

The views and opin­ions expressed above are those of the author, based on their obser­va­tions and experiences.

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