Every night I wake up sometime between 2:11 a.m. and 3:14 a.m. to check my phone for news from Israel, news about the hostages. It’s been my habit since October 7, 2023.
Last night I read what I have been dreading most; It has been confirmed by the IDF that Shlomo Mansour, my beloved kibbutz father, was murdered by Hamas in captivity.
As unrealistic as it may seem, choosing hope that he would indeed return home alive over doubts that seeped in consumed my thoughts. Maybe it’s simply a human survival technique, hope. Hope and pray until evidence surfaces to slap you awake.
Mazal, his wife tells the story of that day in detail. How three young Hamas terrorists entered their home early that Saturday morning, bound 85-year-old Shlomo’s hands and manhandled him, even as he offered no physical resistance. Intelligence now says he was killed that day and his body taken to Gaza.
Splicing together clips of memories in my mind, I hear “CUT! Re-do that scene.” Only this time Shlomo isn’t taken hostage, isn’t murdered.
I have not spoken directly to Batya, my kibbutz sister since this news has become public. It’s not the time for me to ask her questions, she will tell me when she is able. I did the only thing I can do in this moment: I let Shlomo’s family know that I am sitting with them in silence, brokenhearted with my arms around them. I have no words of comfort, only love and gratitude for having known Shlomo, for being brought into their family.
Your texts have been pouring in, I know this affects you too. I am moved by your support and awareness. We are all sad and angry and numb and exhausted and speaking up and worried and… and, it’s not over. We have 73 more brothers and sisters waiting to come home to their family.
We shift our focus, no longer aiming for the grand prize, now longing for the consolation prize, bringing his body home to rest in peace at his beautiful Kibbutz Kissufim.
Collectively, we are bound together by the events of October 7th. As I’ve written before, we are one family and we remain one family.
So now we do what our faith teaches us, we mourn and honor the memory of Shlomo. We do that by make donations to Kibbutz Kissufim in his name. Showing his grieving family and extended kibbutz family that we are here with them, we feel their pain and show them that they are not alone – just as you have shown that you are with me.
