Was he missing? Dead? Wounded and unconscious? Or had he been taken hostage? Chaos reigned supreme, inflicting indescribable agony
I was invited to speak at one of the many Shabbos gatherings for hostage families because of my work as a Holocaust guide. “You’ve met so many survivors,” Rabbanit Tzila Schneider, head of Kesher Yehudi and organizer of these special shabbatons, said to me. “You’ve led a hundred tours of Auschwitz. Tell them that Am Yisrael has been through worse — and yet, here we are.”
But over the course of that Shabbos, through my conversations with the families, I came to realize that this was a terrible mistake.
I met fathers and mothers losing their minds from worry — they hadn’t eaten or slept for months. The fear for their sons — and to an even greater degree, for their daughters — was driving them to the brink.
Many people get angry when I say this: “You have no idea what Auschwitz was like,” they tell me. But the truth is, I do have some idea what Auschwitz was like — and I also have some idea of what it’s like to be the parent of a hostage. I’m not saying we’re all living through another Holocaust. But these parents? They’d choose the Holocaust over the nightmare they’re living through right now.
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