“Remember in high school I had that metal bracelet that had the name of a girl who was killed in the second intifada? If you can find it. I think it’s in my jewelry box,” I texted my mom last month.
“Do you need a specific one? I recently found a bag of them,” she replied.
“Yes, the one I used to wear. Irina Nepomenschi.”
“How do you remember her name?” she asked.
How could I forget? I wore Irina’s name on my wrist for months or years—I don’t quite remember. Irinia was only 16 when she was killed in the bombing of a discotheque in Tel Aviv in 2001. She was only a few years older than me, and I am acutely aware it could have been me. I didn’t know anyone who knew Irina— I pulled her name randomly from the bracelets of reflected those lost in the second intifada, 4.5 years of deadly terrorist attacks in Israel that targeted civilian spots like pizzerias, bars, buses, and so on. But I wore it to remember her legacy and to remember the cruelty that took her life because she was a Jew.
23 years later, I remember her name.
Just as 23 years from now, I will remember Hersch’s name. Alex’s name. Naama, Kfir, Ariel, Shiri, Yarden, Doron, Noa, Karina, Sagi, Eden, Romi, Daniela, Liri. And so many more, I can’t even know all their names and stories, which pains me so. All day long I think about these strangers who are still being held hostage in Gaza. I wonder—did you get to eat today? Have you seen any sunlight? Are you physically okay? Are you together? Do you know we’re fighting for you?
I don’t know them but I hear their stories through social media and the piercing pain of their parent's, children’s, siblings’, and friends’ cries. I see their names plastered on posters, some of which have been vandalized, an attempted erasure of the most painful time to be a Jew in my lifetime and many Jews’ lifetimes. I hold their names close to my heart and in my prayers and I imagine them being set free so they can attempt to heal from such cruelty. An experience no one should suffer.
My Hebrew name is Israela Zahava (ישראלה זהבה), which translates to Israel of gold. I was named after my father’s father, whose English name was Sol and Hebrew name was Israel Zanvil. My grandfather Sol, whom I never got to meet, was born in 1921. While I don’t know who he was named after, his name referred to the land of our people, where we originated from, a land that we longed to return to. That was 27 years before the re-establishment of Israel as we know it today. Our longing endured throughout the millennia we have existed in the diaspora.
My Hebrew name connects me to my ancestors, to my grandfather, and to a land that our people longed to return to and re-establish. I know this longing as I, too, wanted so badly to go to visit Israel when I was in high school. It was always the plan, but with the second intifada happening (which took the lives of Irina and 1082 others), my plan was derailed by Jew hatred, something my ancestors were all too familiar with. My longing stemmed from the deepest part of my soul, my DNA longing to return to our land for 2,000 years. My Hebrew name is a reflection of this continued connection Jews have had to the land we were so violently expelled from 2,000 years ago. Despite being a Jew of the diaspora, my orientation has always been towards the land of which we came.
My name is not a representation of white settler colonialism as some want you to believe, it’s an ancient connection to that land that my people became a people in. Where our traditions and holidays stem from. A desire to return home to a land that we were violently expelled from and that has had a Jewish presence since the beginning despite the many empires that colonized the land.
There are so few Jews in the world that we are all undeniably connected. I may not have known Irina personally, but I am sure I am not more than a couple of degrees away from someone who does. I do not personally know anyone who has been held hostage, but I have two friends with family members who currently are still being held in Gaza, and I am sure if I went another degree out, I’d be connected to many more. These names reverberate in our collective consciousness. We have one Jewish soul, and our soul is currently shattered into 136 pieces in Gaza.
You unlocked such a core memory for me by showing that bracelet. In 2004 the entire "Color War" I ran for the New Jersey USY Camp pivoted from being "red, white, and blue" to "blue, white, and GREEN" because we were all so thoroughly focused on the Second Intifada and those losses. We opened it with a memorial for the 1083 lives lost, and the folks who were in captivity at the time.
Taking our people as hostages has been such a core part of our experience as Yehudim that it dates back to our oldest texts that the rescue of hostages takes precedence over almost all else. The drive to preserve life, all life not only our own communities, is so deeply embedded in all we learn.
I am so appreciative of you as you continue to share these stories.