More than 50 years ago in October 1973, Syria briefly recaptured the Golan Heights from Israel in fierce fighting around the provincial capital city of Quneitra. Israel eventually prevailed, routing the Syrians and occupying most of the strategically important heights.
Syrian war dead still littered the battleground when we got there shortly after the artillery stopped. One uniformed Syrian soldier was sprawled on his back, his army identification and some family photos hanging from a lanyard around his neck. Without disturbing the remains, I looked closer at the picture, the soldier and his children all smiling.
The incident remains vivid. War was new to me, and the humanity of the dead family man has haunted me through the decades. For all its savage brutality, there is a decorum born of religion and tradition. Don’t mess with the dead. Get them buried as soon as possible.
Among many traditions, but maybe Jews (and Muslims) especially, the dead are not at rest until their bodies are appropriately disposed of. The Torah says “You shall bury him the same day.”
When Hamas holds a dead Israeli, that corpse counts as a hostage almost as if it were still a living prisoner.
Since the Oct. 7, 2023, attacks on Israeli communities bordering Gaza, there have been many haunting images published of the carnage that infamous day. We eventually saw the awful extent of the wicked, premeditated violence —1,200 innocent civilians were killed in the worst slaughter of Jewish people since the Holocaust. Over 250 were taken hostage in the tunnels under Gaza, alive and some already dead.
Eventually, we saw many pictures of the victims and the missing, young, old, dead, wounded, captured, terrified, men, women and children dragged underground, taken captive. None of those images has been as haunting as that of two smiling red-headed babies at play with their mom.
Ariel was 4 years old when the picture was taken. Kfir just 8 months. In the photo the boys look secure, laughing and happy in the care of their young mom Shiri Bibas. With their red hair and bright smiles their fate became personal. There was a hope against hope they had somehow survived.
When Hamas and Israel negotiated the latest fragile ceasefire, the staged release of hostages living and the dead was the highest priority. It is impossible to overstate how upsetting and important the fate of the Bibas family became. We knew the children were almost certainly dead, but did not accept their fate until a grotesque prisoner exchange last week.
In a highly choreographed Gaza ceremony, masked Hamas gunmen turned over their little coffins to the Red Cross to carry to Israel, where relief was soon replaced by outrage when the IDF announced forensic examinations proved the little boys had been murdered, their bodies then desecrated to cover up cruel and violent deaths.
The outrage was exacerbated by a last-minute mix-up involving the body of the boys’ slain mom, Shiri. For my wife Erica this stupid mix-up was the last straw.
“My Jewish friends and I wondered if Shiri was alive and forced to watch her babies being killed in front of her. Where is the outcry? We must bring the remaining hostages home before it is too late.”
As of this writing, the fragile truce holds in Gaza. The calm teeters on collapse. As the dead are recovered and put to rest, may their memory be a blessing.
