In our small way, we too helped bring them home

Hostage campaigners (Photo: Getty)Getty Images

Whom were we imploring? God? Bibi? The IDF? The US president? The rest of the world? I think probably all of the above.

Social media was quickly flooded with yellow – T-shirts, jewellery, flags, even trainers. I have seen the most extraordinary and also impressive customisation of attire as people have found ever more imaginative ways of expressing their solidarity with the hostages and their families.

Yellow also flooded our streets as ribbons were tied to lamp-posts and hundreds of hostage posters were stuck onto buildings. The beautiful smiling faces of the captives became all too familiar, etched in our minds and also our hearts. For some people, these faces took on personalities as congregations formed tight bonds with families of hostages as they “adopted” captives and saved seats for them in their shuls and at their Shabbat tables.

A placard picturing Irish-Israeli girl Emily Hand, who was held hostage by Hamas, for an event marking her birthday outside Save The ChildrenAFP via Getty Images

When we thought that all avenues to raise awareness of their plight had been exhausted, campaigners held joyless public tea parties to mark the birthdays of Emily Hand, and Ariel and Kfir Bibas – the brothers who tragically never came home – and JW3 opened the Lovelock Hostage Bridge, where artists painted their emotions onto padlocks and members of the public attached their own messages of hope onto the bridge.

Ilana Fattal's padlock for the Lovelock Hostage Bridge at JW3 (Photo: Ilana Fattal)[Missing Credit]

I remember going along to my first hostage solidarity rally, shortly after the Hamas attack. The words we chanted were meaningful but tentatively spoken. At that stage, we weren’t a community who was used to putting our heads above the parapet. Such public displays of Jewish identity felt counter-intuitive to so many of us who had grown up in the habit of keeping our Judaism – and certainly our love of Israel – tucked away, reserved for summer camps, Friday nights at home or services in synagogues.

But, as a week turned into a month, and a month turned into six and six months into a year – and then two years – our pain grew greater and our voices became stronger. That tens of thousands of people would march through the streets of London and Manchester, holding Israeli flags, singing Israeli songs, while shouting to “Bring them home now!” was inconceivable two years ago.

But this wasn’t just happening every few months. In some areas –Leeds, Borehamwood and Finchley – vigils would take place weekly, and in Brighton, the community gathered every single night, continuing even more resolutely when their memorial to the victims of October 7 was vandalised on several occasions.

Weekly vigil for the hostages in Borehamwood, Hertfordshire (Photo: Hostages and Missing Families Forum UK)[Missing Credit]

The truth is that the story of the hostages was never just Israel’s story. It is a story which has touched Jews deeply across the diaspora – regardless of where they stand religiously or politically. Many of us look to the hostages as if they are members of our own family. Because they are. 

As we witness the most extraordinary scenes of freed hostages being reunited with relatives and friends, and those who were tragically murdered in captivity finally being given a dignified burial and a grave where their relatives can mourn, we should reflect on how far we, the UK Jewish community, has come in the past two years.

There have been moments of immense pain and anxiety, but there have also been moments of immense strength. We found our courage, and we found our voice – and, in our own small way, we too helped to “bring them home”.