OPINION:
For more than two years after Hamas’ Oct. 7, 2023, attacks, I wore a “Bring Them Home” dog tag and a yellow bracelet to commemorate and bring awareness to the hostages held in the Gaza Strip (“Israeli troops scour Gaza cemetery for remains of final hostage as Rafah crossing remains closed,” Web, Jan. 26).
What began as a small gesture slowly became a daily ritual. I told myself I would not take off the items until the last hostage returned, even when I doubted that day would come.
I am not naturally drawn to symbols. Wearing them sometimes felt awkward, like I was turning something sacred into an accessory. Yet I came to understand their role. Symbols are how societies carry grief together. Wearing the dog tag and ribbon was a quiet way of saying, “I see you, and I have not moved on.”
Now, after the return of the remains of Master Sgt. Ran Gvili, no Israeli hostages are in the Gaza Strip for the first time since 2014.
I found myself buying one more item at Hostage Square: a necklace reading “tikvah” (Hebrew for hope). Over these years, hope stopped being a feeling and became a discipline, a choice not to sink into numbness and despair. Every rally, poster and news item that kept the hostages’ names alive was an act of holding on.
A few weeks ago, a letter in the word tikvah broke off my necklace. I still wear it. When people notice, I say my hope may be a little broken, but it remains. Our hope now carries the weight of funerals, protests, reserves duty and long nights in shelters. It is not shiny or simple anymore, but it is still there.
Hope was never only about bringing the hostages home. It was also about who we chose to be while we waited. That kind of hope, even tested and worn, is always worth holding on to.
MATAN SCHWARTZ
Tel Aviv, Israel
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