I cried silently and profoundly. No one saw me cry. Outwardly, my day was ordinary – a beautiful afternoon with my grandchild, laughing in the park, watching them practice jiu-jitsu. But inside, my heart fractured.
Hamas announced the release of the Bibas babies’ bodies. We feared this outcome, but hope flickered stubbornly within us. We clung to the possibility of a miracle – some sign that the wounds of these past 500 days might have even the faintest chance of healing. That hope is gone.
When a society becomes immune to toddlers dying in man-made conflicts fueled by adult cruelty and irresponsibility – when we forget to look back at centuries of atrocities committed in the name of faith or land – we stand on the edge of a very dark age.
But we are not powerless. We can still choose to reclaim our humanity. If we, as Jews, as humans, come together to speak for the Bibas babies – and for every baby, from every country, faith, or ethnicity – we can ask their memory to guide us. We can let their brief lives remind us of our collective responsibility to end this madness.
We must sit shiva together. We must grieve as a people. Yesterday, we heard the news. Today, we are broken. Tomorrow, we bury not just two babies but a fragile ember of hope for our future.
Our tradition teaches us how to mourn. We tear our garments to reflect the rip in our hearts. We gather together, allowing our grief to bind us. In that collective mourning, we find strength. We find the beginnings of healing. We find each other.
Shiva is not only an acknowledgment of loss; it is also a structured path back to life. From the depths of grief, we rise together, carrying the memory of those we lost into the future.
Let us grieve – not just for the Bibas family, but for every family shattered by this war. For the hostages still trapped in the tunnels. For the fallen soldiers. For the parents, the grandparents, the children. For the lives cut short. For the light extinguished.
Let us listen together for the sound of the earth hitting their small coffins. Let us feel the unbearable finality of that moment. Let us weep, so that one day, we may rise. Together.
But grief is not the end. It is the beginning. When we rise from shiva, we must carry forward the memory of these children and the generations stolen from us. We must transform our pain into purpose.
Now is the time to heal our collective trauma. Now is the time to build unity, not just within our families or our synagogues, but across the Jewish world. We cannot afford to be fractured. We cannot allow our divisions to prevent us from securing a future for our children.
Let the memory of the Bibas babies light a fire in our hearts
Let the memory of Kfir and Ariel Bibas ignite a fire in our hearts – a fire that fuels our determination to protect, to unite, and to demand dignity and safety for every Jewish child.
We will never forget them. And in their memory, we will find our way back to each other. We will heal. We will unify.
Together, we will rise – not just as we were, but as better versions of ourselves. As a stronger, more united Jewish community. With one voice, we will do the things we have been prevented from doing for too long. We will build a future worthy of their names.
The writer is a US-based brand expert with more than three decades of corporate marketing experience. She works full-time to support the Jewish community. You can follow her at linkedin.com/in/ester-rabinovici.
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