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.

The Dual Loss

In an era in which the bound­aries between truth and false­hood are more blurred than ever, the tes­ti­mo­ny of Eli Shara­bi, the released hostage, res­onates pure authen­tic­i­ty. His direct­ness, open­ness, and pow­er­ful pres­ence touched our hearts deeply and evoked fun­da­men­tal ques­tions about human­i­ty’s nature in times of crisis.

The imme­di­ate grief is of course for the loss of life — for all the mur­dered and the fall­en, for the lit­tle red­head­ed chil­dren, for the pro­tec­tive moth­er. But beneath this lay­er lies a deep­er grief: mourn­ing the loss of human­i­ty itself. As a peo­ple who expe­ri­enced the Holo­caust, this strikes at a point that has bare­ly healed, a painful reminder that vio­lence has not dis­ap­peared from the world, but has only changed its form.

The Pol­ish poet Czesław Miłosz wrote in A Song on the End of the World”: As long as the sun and the moon are above / As long as the bum­ble­bee vis­its a rose / As long as rosy infants are born / No one believes it is hap­pen­ing now.” 

The Bound­aries of Human Responsibility

Ter­ror and vio­lence raise dis­turb­ing ques­tions about the bound­aries of human respon­si­bil­i­ty. As the philoso­pher Emmanuel Lev­inas not­ed, the eth­i­cal moment of respon­si­bil­i­ty toward the oth­er” pre­cedes any philo­soph­i­cal dis­course. Lev­inas believed encoun­ter­ing the oth­er’s” face impos­es an absolute respon­si­bil­i­ty that can­not be trans­ferred or dis­owned. It is a respon­si­bil­i­ty that Shara­bi pre­sent­ed in the inter­view in a tan­gi­ble, shock­ing way — it was clear from his face that he yearned to save the hostage Alon Ohel, who was left behind in Hamas captivity.

But what hap­pens when an entire soci­ety dis­avows its respon­si­bil­i­ty? Soci­ety has failed to instill the val­ue of all human beings regard­less of their reli­gion, nation­al­i­ty, ide­ol­o­gy, or location.

Silent Resis­tance

With­in the dark­ness and decay of cap­tiv­i­ty, the hostages found cre­ative ways to main­tain their iden­ti­ty and san­i­ty. Shara­bi says that Ohel is con­stant­ly mov­ing his fin­gers on his body.” These sim­ple words reveal an entire world of silent resistance. 

When his body became an imag­i­nary piano, his fin­gers con­tin­ued to play melodies that no one but him could hear. With these sub­tle move­ments, Alon main­tained an inner dia­logue with his sense of self and life out­side the tun­nel walls. The move­ments of his fin­gers on his body are not just a sur­vival mech­a­nism; they stand as proof of the strength of the human spir­it, of the music that con­tin­ues to res­onate even when the world falls silent. A hid­den piano is hid­den with­in his body, and Alon pre­served his human­i­ty through his cre­ativ­i­ty in con­di­tions intend­ed to strip it from him. Alon did not let the bru­tal cap­tiv­i­ty cut him off from the music run­ning in his blood.

This exam­ple embod­ies the French philoso­pher and writer Simone Weil’s state­ment, To be root­ed is per­haps the most impor­tant and least rec­og­nized need of the human soul.” Our roots are like anchors we cling to in times of cri­sis and destruc­tion. The abil­i­ty to cre­ate a whole inner world, even as the out­side world is crum­bling, might be one of the most sub­lime expres­sions of human­i­ty. It serves as a reminder that human­i­ty is not mere­ly an abstract con­cept, but a dai­ly prac­tice of resis­tance and a per­sis­tent claim to our exis­tence as con­scious, emo­tion­al, and cre­ative beings.

Human­i­ty as a Uni­ver­sal Value

Bertolt Brecht wrote, Food comes first and then moral­i­ty.” There is a deep truth in this — basic needs must be met before moral behav­ior can be demand­ed. Brecht actu­al­ly points out that with­out the ful­fill­ment of basic needs, an emo­tion­al and exis­ten­tial void is cre­at­ed, moral­i­ty becomes a lux­u­ry, and there­fore it can be manip­u­lat­ed and eas­i­ly shaped by those who hold power.

Human mutu­al respon­si­bil­i­ty can­not be built on a rel­a­tive basis. It must be found­ed on the recog­ni­tion of human val­ue as a human being. Kant pre­sent­ed this as the supreme prin­ci­ple of moral­i­ty: Act in such a way that you treat human­i­ty, whether in your own per­son or in the per­son of any oth­er, nev­er mere­ly as a means to an end, but always at the same time as an end.” This is an enor­mous chal­lenge in a world where ide­olo­gies tend to turn peo­ple into oth­ers,” into sym­bols of evil or threat, there­by enabling the shirk­ing of moral respon­si­bil­i­ty towards them.

Beyond Momen­tary Emotion

Shara­bi’s tes­ti­mo­ny invites us to deal with these ques­tions not only on an emo­tion­al lev­el, but also on an intel­lec­tu­al and prac­ti­cal lev­el. Shock and pain are appro­pri­ate human respons­es, but the real chal­lenge is to think beyond the moment — beyond the fleet­ing emo­tion — toward active hope.

In his work The Cure at Troy,” the poet Heaney says: His­to­ry says, don’t hope/​On this side of the grave…” He describes the gloomy real­iza­tion that his­to­ry is a series of vio­lent and hope­less cycles. But then come the lines, But then, once in a lifetime/​The longed-for tidal wave/​Of jus­tice can rise up, / And hope and his­to­ry rhyme.” This is a call to think beyond the present moment; to think towards crit­i­cal and cre­ative obser­va­tion that can lead to change. There are rare moments when the cycle of vio­lence and despair can be bro­ken, and when jus­tice can prevail.

Toward a Shared Human­i­ty
Human­i­ty is not mere­ly bio­log­i­cal; it is an ongo­ing cul­tur­al project. In a world divid­ed by ide­olo­gies, reli­gions, and nation­al per­cep­tions, the chal­lenge is to cre­ate a com­mon lan­guage of human­i­ty, enabling dia­logue across these bound­aries. It does not mean we should ignore dif­fer­ences or aban­don unique cul­tur­al iden­ti­ties. But it encour­ages us to strive for a world where cru­el­ty has no place. 

The Poet in Times of Crisis

In a world dom­i­nat­ed by com­pet­ing nar­ra­tives, the poet asks ques­tions and offers a dif­fer­ent per­spec­tive — it is not nec­es­sar­i­ly an objec­tive point of view, but one that seeks to expose human com­plex­i­ty in its entire­ty. The dis­tinc­tive role of the poet is to bring out the human­i­ty with­in dis­course sat­u­rat­ed with ide­ol­o­gy and hatred; to remind us that behind the num­bers and sta­tis­tics, there are liv­ing and breath­ing human beings, lov­ing and hurt­ing. Poet­ry must under­mine the grand nar­ra­tives and slo­gans and remind us of the pos­si­bil­i­ties of beau­ty, ten­der­ness, com­pas­sion, hope, and the dream for a bet­ter future. With­in an often vio­lent real­i­ty, this is not an easy task, but it is espe­cial­ly nec­es­sary in times of cri­sis and destruction.

Shara­bi’s tes­ti­mo­ny pro­vides us with a mir­ror that reflects our soci­ety as it is, going beyond what took place on Octo­ber 7. The reflec­tion offers no mag­i­cal solu­tions to the short­com­ings of our soci­ety. It requires of us con­stant work — in edu­ca­tion, inter­cul­tur­al dia­logue, and cre­at­ing spaces where human­i­ty can flour­ish. It involves rec­og­niz­ing the human aspects of all people.

Human­i­ty is not sta­t­ic; it involves dynam­ic, ever-chang­ing learn­ing and devel­op­ment. Each cri­sis and con­fronta­tion presents us with the fol­low­ing ques­tion: Will we choose a path that strength­ens our shared human­i­ty, or one that weak­ens it? This is a ques­tion that each of us must ask and answer as we make our choic­es every day. 

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

Sup­port the work of Jew­ish Book Coun­cil and become a mem­ber today.

Lali Michaeli is the non­con­formist of Israeli poet­ry, dar­ing to shout what oth­ers were ashamed to think, became a sym­bol of rebel­lion and anti-estab­lish­ment. Even now, when she learns for­eign lan­guages, is invit­ed to par­tic­i­pate in inter­na­tion­al poet­ry fes­ti­vals all over the world and wins inter­na­tion­al awards, she refus­es to screw with the Israeli main­stream. She main­tains her sta­tus as a solo poet. The Israeli polit­i­cal poems Mr. Prime Min­is­ter” (2009) and Democ­ra­cy” (2016) along­side uni­ver­sal poems like Paint me ablaze” and Every time we make love” show the lay­ers of her poet­ry. The intra-poet­ic, per­son­al, inter­per­son­al and human dia­logue is the how and what of her writ­ing. This is an attempt to build bridges in impos­si­ble places. The poet­ry of Lali Michaeli once again proves that excel­lent poet­ry can also be sexy and inno­v­a­tive.” — Dory Manor