“Finally, finally, finally…you are free.”
These words, spoken by Rachel Goldberg-Polin at her son Hersh’s funeral this week, have echoed in my mind ever since.
Standing before the packed crowd at the Har HaMenuchot cemetery in Jerusalem, Rachel’s voice carried the heartbreak of a mother who had endured the unendurable. She described the torment, the hope, and, ultimately, the crushing reality of her son’s death. Hersh, just 23 years old, was one of six hostages found dead in a tunnel in Gaza, murdered by Hamas after nearly a year in captivity.
“For 332 days, I worried every millisecond of every day,” she said, her voice breaking under the weight of grief. “I was terrified, scared, worrying, and frightened. It closed my throat and made my soul throb with third-degree burns.”
Hersh, like so many others, was kidnapped on October 7 during the attack on the Nova music festival. He had gone with friends to celebrate his birthday – an event that should have been filled with joy and freedom.
Instead, it became the beginning of a nightmare. Hamas took Hersh, his fate unknown for months, leaving his family and friends in an excruciating limbo.
In her eulogy, Rachel spoke of the strange and bittersweet hope that had kept their hearts beating throughout these agonizing months. “We became absolutely CERTAIN,” she said, her words filled with disbelief, “that you were coming home to us ALIVE. But it was not to be.”
Hope turns to grief
And now, Hersh is free –free from the physical suffering and terror he endured, free from the clutches of Hamas.
But this kind of freedom, the one that comes through death, is cruel. It is the kind of freedom no mother, no father, no family should ever have to endure. Hersh’s life was cut short, and now his family is left to grapple with an unfillable void, forced to transform their hope into grief.
Rachel’s words, “Finally, finally, finally, finally you are FREE,” carry a weight that is hard to describe. Freedom is something we all strive for. It’s something so many of us in Israel take for granted: living in a democratic society despite the ever-present threats. But Hersh’s story is a reminder that freedom comes at a cost, and in this case, it came too late. Hersh fought to stay alive, even in the most unimaginable of circumstances. He survived for 329 days in what Rachel called “Hell,” enduring horrors none of us can truly fathom.
But this isn’t just Hersh’s story. It’s the story of his friends who were killed beside him, of the hostages still held in Gaza, and of every Israeli family who has been thrust into this nightmare. It’s a story of national heartbreak.
As a journalist, I’ve spent the last year covering the war, the hostages, and the endless stream of tragedies that seem to fill our news cycle.
At The Jerusalem Post, we’ve made it our mission to keep the stories of the hostages alive. For four months, we published a photo of one of the hostages every single day. We never imagined we’d have to repeat some of those names and faces over and over again. But even with that effort, even with all the coverage, I still find myself asking: Was it enough?
The short answer? No. It wasn’t.
More needs to be done
Rachel’s words haunt me: “I’m sorry. If there was something we could have done to save you and we didn’t think of it, I beg your forgiveness.” Her plea was personal, directed at her son, but I think there’s a lesson in there for all of us. Did we do enough? Did we stand up when it mattered? Did we use every tool at our disposal to fight for those still in captivity?
Personally, I feel I could have done more. I didn’t march in the streets or join the protests calling for the hostages’ release. I prayed, yes. Every week in my synagogue, we offer a special prayer for the hostages, passing out pieces of paper with their names, asking for divine intervention. But is that enough? In my heart, I know it’s not.
We at the Post published countless stories on the hostages.
We interviewed those who were released, shared their heart-wrenching accounts of captivity, and highlighted the suffering of those still left behind.
We devoted front pages to this crisis, shouting into the wind, hoping the world would listen. But as Rachel reminded us, “The hope that perhaps a deal was near was so authentic it was crunchy. It tasted CLOSE. But it was not to be.”
The truth is, no matter how many stories we publish, no matter how many interviews we conduct, we cannot change the fact that Hersh is gone and that six more lives have been lost. And with every new headline, every report of another rocket, another act of violence, it becomes harder to keep up. But that doesn’t mean we should stop trying.
Entering a time of repentance
As we enter the month of Elul, the time for reflection and repentance, it feels fitting to ask: How can we do better? How can we ensure that Hersh’s death – and the deaths of so many others – doesn’t become just another tragic statistic? This is the time for soul-searching, both on an individual level and as a nation.
In her eulogy, Rachel described her son as “energetic, kind, patient, curious, funny, irreverent, pensive.” Hersh was, by all accounts, the kind of young man any parent would be proud of. He loved traveling, soccer, and electronic music. He was just like so many other 23-year-olds, full of life, with the world at his feet. Now, he will forever be young, forever frozen in time, a memory that his family will carry with them always.
But his story doesn’t have to end there. It’s up to us – those of us still living, still free – to ensure that his legacy, and the legacy of all those who have suffered, isn’t forgotten. We must ask ourselves what more we can do to bring about the freedom we so desperately seek – not just for the hostages still in Gaza but for Israel as a whole.
As Rachel so poignantly said, “I pray that your death will be a turning point in this horrible situation in which we are all entangled.” We owe it to Hersh and his family to make sure that prayer isn’t in vain. As we head into Rosh Hashanah, let’s not just say sorry for our mistakes.
Let’s take action. Let’s be better Jews, better Israelis, and better advocates for those who need us most.
Because if we don’t, who will?
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