Darkness and light, disaster and rescue— we saw both, all in the space of a working day. Which to focus on?
Some things you just never forget. Some things once seen, can’t be unseen. I suspect that the Bibas picture is one of them.
The image of Shiri — a frozen scream on her face, hugging her two ginger-haired tots close as evil incarnate closes in — ranks among the most horrific of October 7.
There were far more graphic shots, obviously — scenes that make tough men retch. But in that strange, unerring process by which icons are born, we all zeroed in on that picture as a symbol.
For the last year and a half, the fate of the “gingim,” as Israelis came to know the redheads, became a sort of unspoken barometer of the war. Intellectually, we knew that there was little chance they would come back. How could toddlers survive the Hamas dungeons any more than babies could survive Auschwitz? Would those who’d burned infants on that horrific day prove more merciful six months later?
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