By then, my initial hesitations had faded. I’d already been there. I knew what to expect. This time, I came with my wife and two daughters.

From that point on, a new chapter began. I was officially there as a lecturer, speaking to the families as the in-house rabbi.

But women connect with each other on an entirely different level. Two Jewish mothers lighting Shabbos candles side by side… True, one was frum while the other draped a scarf around her T-shirt; one davened for the daughters standing at her side while the other prayed for her daughter held in Gaza.

Readers are surely familiar with the media reports, the demonstrations at Hostage Square in Tel Aviv, but there were so many other sub-plots that never made the headlines, even though they are, in truth, the heart of the story.

And so, I decided to write a book — not a rehashing of the news, but a story that will be etched in the gold letters of Jewish history. A story that would not only awaken our community to daven and perform maasim tovim as a merit for their loved-ones, but also one that would serve to deepen the bonds that connect us all to one another and to our Father in Heaven.

Some of the stories have since had a happy ending. Some have ended in tragedy. And some are still unfolding. It’s my privilege to share some of them with you.

Dance of Tears and Faith

Simchas Torah 5785 was approaching, and Kesher Yehudi was organizing a special Yom Tov event at the Ramada Hotel for bereaved families, hostage families, and survivors of the Nova festival massacre. It would be exactly one year after October 7.

This was the first yahrtzeit for so many — but many families had not yet buried their loved ones or sat shivah for them. And for others, there was agonizing uncertainty: Was their child still alive?

One bereaved father shared, “At a recent shabbaton for bereaved parents, when they stood to say Kaddish, there was no one left to answer Amen.”

Many families reached out with the same request: Bring us together for Yom Tov. It’s going to be a painful day, and we need each other’s support.

Kesher Yehudi invited many of the frum chavrusos whom they’d paired over the year to come join in the dancing and celebration. Within all the pain, the chag had to be joyous and uplifting.

Everything about this Yom Tov was different — the people, the atmosphere, the customs.

First, a sefer Torah written in memory of Yonatan Azulai Hy”d was brought into the hotel. His friends greeted it with a spontaneous, heartfelt rendition of “Tenu Kavod LaTorah” in the lobby. Immediately afterward, the entire crowd joined in a hoshana ceremony, beating aravos and davening on behalf of those in need of a yeshuah. Then came the lighting of yahrtzeit candles in memory of those no longer with us. Parents lit for their children; friends lit for friends.

After davening, it was announced that hakafos would be “sold” — not for donations, but in exchange for kabbalos — good resolutions. The opening of the aron kodesh was “purchased” by a survivor who pledged to bring 18 friends to sign up for chavrusa learning with frum partners. And the currency for taking out the Torah was keeping Shabbos. It went to a young man with a long ponytail who committed to keeping Shabbos for the next 15 weeks.

The winner then shared something personal: “I’ve actually been trying to keep Shabbat ever since last Simchat Torah,” he said, “but it just never worked out for me. A few weeks ago, on the last Shabbat of the year before Rosh Hashanah, Kesher Yehudi organized another shabbaton for survivors. They told us that the final Shabbat of the year has the power to atone for all the others — and that was the first time in my life I kept an entire Shabbat.

“I made up my mind to keep going… but no one warned me that the entire month of Tishrei is made up of Shabbat-chag-Shabbat-chag! But you know what? I’m doing it, and it’s pretty amazing.”

Each of the hakafos that night was dedicated as a zechus for a different hostage. Shai Wenkert stood on a chair and announced: “This hakafah is dedicated as a merit for my son, Omer ben Niva. I’m giving the honor to anyone who commits to putting on tefillin in his merit.”

An auction began: A month of tefillin. Two months. The bidding rose — until the winner committed to a full year. The winner was Shai’s younger son.

Omer was being held in Gaza. His parents had grown stronger in their religious observance, but their high-school-aged son had stayed on the sidelines. Now, watching his father gather zechuyos for his brother, something changed. He wanted in.

(B’chasdei Hashem, Omer Wenkert was released last February after 505 days in captivity.)

Also deeply moved was Ralph Reider, who had sponsored the chag. He asked the emcee to announce that he would gift a tallis and tefillin to anyone who committed to putting them on every day until Chanukah.

Over the next few days, many stepped forward to accept the offer.

The Berger family sold their hakafah in exchange for a commitment to establishing a halachic Jewish home. (Agam Berger, who became famous for her staunch emunah in the darkest tunnels of captivity, was released after 482 days.) Chagai Angerest sold his hakafah for the mitzvah of Krias Shema as a merit for his son, Matan Shachar ben Anat, who, at the time of this writing, is still in need of Heavenly mercy.

There was an uncomfortable moment when Ran Gilboa stood on a chair and announced that his hakafah, which he was dedicating as a merit for his daughter Daniella, would go to someone who would be willing to take upon himself to refrain from lashon hara for an entire month. (Daniella was released after 477 days.)

We frum chaperones stood there exchanging uneasy glances, realizing that this time, the auction applied to us too.

The amazing thing is that the same energy so many of these people poured out last year at a secular music festival,was rechanneled here to rejoice with the Torah. Those very same neshamos that, just the year before, caroused in the lowest of places, were now dancing with the sifrei Torah, holy fire in their eyes. Someone pointed out that Nova is an acronym for “Nagil venasis bezos haTorah.”

In general, at the shabbatons, it was never easy to get the teens out of bed in the morning, but on Simchas Torah, which would be a busy day, it was announced that Shacharis was at 8:00, and aliyos at 9:00.

Everyone showed up; no one wanted to miss an aliyah. The first aliyah took place, then the second, and then the gabbai said, “Mi shebeirach avoseinu hu yevarech es Tal baavur she…”

Typically, one would say “…in the merit of his pledging this and this amount…” But Tal didn’t know the custom, so he said, “baavur she… from now on, I’ll wash netilat yadayim every morning.” The next person said, “Baavur she… I’ll say Kriat Shema before bed.” Another said, “Baavur she… I’ll treat everyone with kindness.” One promised to start a weekly Torah shiur. One teen hesitated a bit before saying, “Baavur she… from now on, I’ll use only things that belong to me.” There was that, too.

After the chag, there was a panel. Amir Daniel, father of Oz Hy”d, spoke. “My only consolation,” he said, “is seeing that Oz did not fall in vain. He died for this incredible nation.” He paused for a moment and added: “Without all of you, I wouldn’t have had simchah. But I managed to be truly happy. This was the most meaningful azkarah I could have imagined.” Oz, a 19-year-old soldier, was killed during a battle with Hamas terrorists at the Gaza border and his body is still being held in Gaza. His death was officially declared by the Chief  Rabbinate based on specific findings and intelligence information.

One of the female Nova survivors turned to the women around her with a heartfelt request: “Please join me in reciting Tehilim perek 121 — “Shir lamaalos esa einai…”

She shared her story: “We were a group fleeing on foot. At one point, we reached a junction and encountered terrorists. We bolted into the fields and in the distance, we spotted an Israeli tank and ran toward it. Strangely, the tank wasn’t moving. A few of the young men in our group climbed to the turret and lowered themselves inside. There they found four soldiers… who were no longer alive.

“The men took the soldiers’ weapons and stood guard outside, while we women crawled under the tank for cover. One of the men called out, ‘The men have arms, and the women should say Tehillim!’ The only perek we knew by heart was Shir Lamaalos, so we recited it over and over again, all of us together.

“Terrorists came and opened fire, but miraculously, we were all saved. Today is the anniversary of that rescue. So please join me in saying my ‘rescue perek.’”

I heard about a conversation between two other Nova survivors. “You know,” one said, “all year long, I didn’t understand where Elokim was on October 7. Now I know. He was simply at home. In shul. At hakafot.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1081)