I’ve thought about Naama Levy every day for 477 days. not that that isn’t true of many others individually and of the hostages collectively, but the footage of Naama being taken…we all saw it. we’ve all seen it since, seen it reinterpreted for protests, seen the Jewish outcry to women’s rights organizations met with silence, seen the footage of her saying she has friends in Palestine, seen her mother, Ayelet, who has been so fierce in her fight for her daughter but has understandably faded further and further into grief (the last time I saw her, she was with the Goldberg-Polins at a vigil for the hostages - Rachel and Jon could speak, Ayelet could not bring herself to, and it worried me for her. Hersh was gone, and it seemed almost too overwhelming and frightening to pray for Naama out loud).
remember when Naama’s mother came to New York City and they screamed “shame” at her and called her a killer on the streets? I think about that a lot too.
the footage of Naama’s abduction changed my life, selfishly and in an infinitesimal way in comparison to her and to real suffering, but still. my life of illness and tedium is very small and quiet and sequestered, and it was seeing people laughing and mocking Naama specifically that was the very first image of 10/7 on my dash that day. I didn’t know what was going on, what had happened, but she was the first victim I saw before I realized the extent of the massacre, and she was also the first victim I saw being denigrated as the floodgates of the hatred opened. losing mutuals and friends when my sphere of social interaction is so tiny (it’s nonexistent now lol), shutting my blog down, started at that moment, even though I didn’t realize it at the time. and I’d do it again, but I wish I had not had to. I wish people had reacted to that image of this sweet 19 year old girl, this girl who worked with youth groups promoting peace and equality and a better future for all, and been horrified and sympathetic towards her. I wish they’d taken up her mission of helping and kindness. I wish they’d worried about her, just a little, instead of denying or celebrating what happened to her.
but we remembered her and cared about her and her name has been kept alive, and now we are finally near the miracle of her return. may she and the other girls be embraced, healed, and comforted. may “hands for peace” be a mission statement for far more people going forward.
thank G-d the last moments we see of her will not be from the nightmare of that day.
Ayelet wrote this in December:
https://nationalpost.com/opinion/ayelet-levy-a-mothers-plea-dont-forget-the-hostages
More than 400 days and nights have passed since my then 19-year-old daughter Naama was taken hostage to Gaza. Naama, a fun-loving teenager, loved by all, embodies the values of kindness, tolerance and compassion. From volunteering at a kindergarten for the children of asylum seekers to working to build bridges between Israeli and Palestinian children through the “Hands of Peace” organization, Naama is an idealist who believes in building a better world, not through her words but through her actions.
Over a year has passed since that horrific Saturday, when the world watched Hamas videos showing armed terrorists brutally dragging a beaten and bloody Naama with six of her friends into the trunk of a jeep that took them into Gaza, after forcing them to witness the murder of their friends. A year, and it feels like the world has moved on, and I am fighting daily to keep Naama’s name alive.
The haunting images of that day still torment me with a helplessness that I had previously only felt in nightmares. We know she was wounded, and today she and the 97 other hostages remain in grave danger. Released hostages have confirmed our worst fears about the violence and constant fear.
Last November brought a glimmer of hope when 105 hostages, mostly women and children, were released and reunited with their families as part of the first and only hostage release deal. But Naama wasn’t among them. Since then, despite numerous opportunities for additional deals, each failed negotiation has been another missed chance, another day of separation, another night of uncertainty.
I don’t know where Naama is, under what conditions she’s being held, what she’s going through, or her medical and physiological state. I must learn to cope with this uncertainty. For over 400 days, men, women, the elderly, and two young children have endured abuse, at times sexual, starvation, and darkness in underground tunnels. Now, with winter’s harsh cold setting in, their chances of survival under these inhumane conditions grow even more desperate.
As a doctor, it is chilling to me that the voice of the global medical community is barely heard. The October 7 massacre, the hostages’ health conditions, and the lack of medical access violate every international standard and law. I’ve met with both the Red Cross President and WHO Chairman on several occasions and was shocked to find that the hostages’ dire situation did not seem to be among their priorities. All they offered was a hug and a little empathy. While international organizations remain silent, we cannot afford to wait. Time is running out.
International Human Rights Day was earlier this week, marking the end of the 16 days of Activism Against Gender Based Violence. I am imploring the people of Canada, who have always stood for justice and human dignity: your voice matters now more than ever. Do not let these hostages fade from your consciousness. Do not let their suffering become yesterday’s news. Your support and advocacy could mean the difference between life and death for my daughter and the other hostages.
I constantly imagine the moment of Naama’s return and dream of our life together after this nightmare ends. These visions feel so real, so tangible. When I walk with Naama’s younger sister through our neighborhood, I can’t help but picture their reunion. At every step, every street corner, I imagine us together after she returns from that cursed place. Until then, I talk to Naama in my thoughts, telling her to stay strong, reminding her that she’s a true survivor, and that beyond all this hardship and suffering lie the good days ahead — when she’ll finally be free.
may they all soon be free.