Israelis celebrated Tu B'Av Monday, a holiday marked by couples exchanging gifts and heartfelt expressions of love, much like Valentine's Day in other parts of the world. Four women, however, whose partners are held hostage by the Hamas terror organization, wrote poignant love letters to their loved ones, sharing their longing and unwavering hope for their safe return.
In biblical times, Tu B'Av, or the fifteenth day of the Hebrew month of Av, held significant cultural and religious importance. It marked the start of the grape harvest, when unmarried women in Jerusalem would don white garments and dance in the vineyards, hoping to catch the eye of a potential suitor. Simultaneously, Tu B'Av marked the completion of the annual wood-gathering for the Temple's main altar, a crucial communal task. While these ancient customs have faded, modern Israel has transformed Tu B'Av into a holiday of love.
Noa Argamani and Avinatan Or were abducted from the Nova Music Festival. Noa was rescued by the IDF after 246 days in captivity. She wrote to Avinatan, who remains captive.
"Happy Tu B'Av, my love. Every year, you'd surprise me with a bouquet and share the story of Tu B'Av's origins – how young women in white would dance in the vineyards of Shiloh under the full moon, hoping to find their soulmates. That's why Tu B'Av symbolizes beauty and love."
Argamani concluded with a heartfelt wish, "Here's to many more kisses and days filled with love – together, not apart."
Raz and Ohad Ben Ami were abducted from Be'eri. Raz was released in November as part of an extended temporary ceasefire deal. She wrote to her husband, who remains captive.
My dearest Ohad,
It's been an eternity since we've been apart, not by choice but by cruel circumstance. If it were up to us, we wouldn't be separated for even a moment. Yet here we are, forced apart by a horrific reality for longer than we've ever been in our 32 years together.
You're my soulmate, my confidant, my everything. Our conversations flow effortlessly on any topic, your patience endless as you explain things. Even when you're rehashing a subject I've heard countless times, I listen intently, knowing that interrupting might derail your train of thought. Meanwhile, I forget what I wanted to say, and another of our conversations ends with you doing all the talking and explaining, while I remain silent. And that's perfectly fine because that's us. It's about patience, mutual respect, and love – the very essence of our life together.
On your birthday, every Christmas, when the holiday lights twinkle, we embark on our cherished tradition: a leisurely stroll in search of the perfect restaurant, followed by ice cream for dessert, come what may. That's who we are – two people who revel in each other's company, regardless of where life takes us. Our joy stems from simply being together, best friends in love. I miss what you affectionately call our "dates."
Every doctor's appointment becomes an excuse for an outing. As we drive, you inevitably ask, "So, what's next on the agenda?" knowing full well my answer: lunch at Japanika in Mavki'im. We order our usual dishes, words unnecessary in our comfortable silence. Just being together is enough. Waking up to our morning chats fills me with happiness. I see how wonderful life is with you by my side, but all this bliss was abruptly interrupted.
But I'm not supposed to dwell on this. I was asked to write about you and me. Yet I can't help it because your absence is a constant ache. How can life go on when you're not here? How is it possible that my other half has been suffering for so long, and I'm powerless to bring you home? I miss your guidance in all the important decisions we now face.
The girls miss you desperately. They're at a crucial stage in life, facing big decisions, and they need their father. I miss – and I'm sure you do too – our Friday family dinners. Alleli baking challah and preparing vegetarian dishes, Yon cooking all the meat dishes you love. Our family, divided between vegetarians and meat-eaters, with you firmly in the latter camp. We need a spread to satisfy everyone. You'd sit there, savoring every bite of your daughters' culinary creations, lavishing praise and eagerly anticipating their latest dessert surprise. All the while, Natalie's playful chatter and inquiries about the menu would fill the background. Ohad, I want you to know that you're in my every thought, every minute of every hour. We're fighting for you, and we know you're strong. We miss you and we're not giving up, not for a single moment. I'm waiting for your embrace, and my love for you grows with each passing day.
Avital Dekel Chen wrote to her husband, Sagui, who was taken hostage from Nir Oz.
Sagui,
Fifteen years ago, you made me a promise in one of your letters: "We'll hike together from Mount Sagi to Mount Avital." It was the first time I realized there were two mountains in Israel bearing our names – Sagi in the south, Avital in the north.
The idea of embarking on such a journey together, one that would span the length of our country, filled me with excitement. Despite our many travels across Israel over the years, we never managed to make that particular trip. But your words have stayed with me all this time. Today, I understand that your promise wasn't just idle talk. Perhaps that sentence was waiting for this very moment, when we find ourselves separated after 20 years, and all I have to cling to is faith.
Faith that we'll still make that journey together, with our daughters by our side. I now see that your words symbolize the path we're meant to travel as a couple. We're two different people, perhaps even opposites – a kibbutznik and a girl from Dimona – united by one crucial trait: resilience. We have the strength to stand firm in the face of life's challenges, unmovable as the very mountains that bear our names.
I feel that we're both in the toughest war possible. You're in a war of existence and I'm in a war of hope, the hope that you'll return to me. I want to tell you that I'm strong for you, that I'll continue to get up on my feet every day until you return to me and the girls. When people ask me what can keep you going there, I say that if you know that the girls and I are alive – that will give you tremendous strength to face this cruel thing.
Luckily, I always told you how much I love you and how important you are to me in life. I want to believe that these things are in front of your eyes every day anew. Know that Barbur and Gali miss you so much and are waiting for you, and there's a sweet girl here named Shachar-Mazal, who's waiting to meet you and get to know you. Be strong, like our love. Today I'm the one who wants to promise you – we'll still hike from Mount Sagi to Mount Avital.
Lishay Miran wrote to her husband, Omri, who was abducted from Nahal Oz.
My beloved Omri,
The night grows late as another week ends and a new one begins. Our girls are fast asleep, and I find myself here, pen in hand, trying to organize my thoughts and search for the right words.
My darling, I visited Nahal Oz again this week – the fifth time since that fateful day. Every moment I'm there, I'm haunted by the thought that you're just beyond the fence, so close yet unreachable. Roni's Rosh Hashana drawings still hang on the wall, a poignant reminder that it's nearly been a year since you were taken from us.
Our house hasn't felt like a home in so long. I remember when we moved into this apartment, I declared with such certainty that we wouldn't move again until we had a place of our own. But life had other plans. Next month, Roni, Alma, and I will be moving for the third time this year. I promise you again – this is the last move until you return. I'm staying put until you come back, and then we'll build the home we've always dreamed of together.
This week, the girls finished their year in kindergarten. Roni insisted on wearing your shirt and necklace to the end-of-year party. As we released balloons to mark the occasion, she made a wish in front of everyone for "Dad Omri and everyone to come back." In Alma's kindergarten, they placed a yellow chair with your picture. Alma approached it and simply said, "Dad." You were there with us too, just as you are in every moment of our daily lives.
My love, we've never been ones for significant dates. For us, every day is a celebration of our love. We searched for each other for so many years, always appreciating, cherishing, and falling in love anew each day. If you were here, we'd probably take advantage of all the great shows playing and pick one to attend. Maybe we'd even treat ourselves and ask my parents to keep the girls overnight. Or perhaps we'd just sit on the balcony, share a beer, smoke a cigarette, and talk about everything and nothing. What I wouldn't give for such a moment. I'd do anything to have countless more of these simple joys with you.
My darling, I need to ask for your forgiveness. I'm sorry you're still there. I'm sorry I haven't managed to bring you home yet. I'm sorry that instead of holding you close and speaking to you face-to-face, I'm writing a letter, clinging to the faint hope that they might let you read it.
I'm so, so sorry.
My love, there's a deal on the table, and I pray you'll be with us soon. I will continue to remind everyone, through every possible channel, both in writing and verbally: We cannot afford to miss another opportunity! To the decision-makers: You have no right to leave Omri and the other 114 hostages behind! The living must be returned for rehabilitation, the fallen and murdered for proper burial. We cannot move forward, we cannot heal, we cannot live in security as long as you remain there in Gaza!
Omri, I'll close with the words you wrote for our private love ceremony:
"It's you I choose
You I dream of
With you I know
That only with you am I truly free" (Shlomo Gronich).
