Dear Hersh,
The sky is the darkest its been in ages this morning. It is fitting, as if learning the news of your death made the heavens burst into tears – which is exactly what happened just moments after writing these words. The skies poured in Tel Aviv, which I have never experienced at this time of year since moving to Israel nearly four years ago.
Hashem knows that putting you, Eden, Carmel, Alexander, Almog, Ori, and every other person held captive to the test was something that should have never happened. As a result, Hashem has expressed regret in the form of tears coming from the heavens – where we know you will spend eternity.
How can I begin to eulogize a man I never had the privilege of meeting, but felt I got to know under the worst possible circumstances? Over the last 11 months of hell, I have never prayed as hard as I have for you and the other captives to be returned to as normal of a life as possible.
I manage the breaking news desk at The Jerusalem Post and I have continued to hold hope that on every shift, we could receive the greatest news of all: you were rescued, brought home peacefully, and reunited with the people who love you the most. Unfortunately, that’s not what happened. This morning I learned that the biggest low-lifes on the planet used you as a pawn and took away your future because of pure cowardice – and that doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Shared commonalities
While we have a lot in common – and I say have instead of had, because your legacy will live on – there are a couple of things that struck me the hardest, encouraging me to write this piece. I made Aliyah with no family in Israel almost four years ago, also from the United States. Though Aliyah was a decision your family made when you were a child, I know that we probably shared the same culture shock in adjusting to life here. Coming to build a life in Israel and put down roots here is no easy feat, whether you come as a child or an adult. Choosing to remain here and contribute to a sustainable future for all who dwell here certainly takes work; we are constantly put to the test in every part of life here, yet we stay because we love this land and see the endless possibilities that can come from it.
The next, possibly most important, commonality we share is the belief that coexistence is achievable. In such a divided nation, it warmed my heart to see photos of your room at home that had dedications to peace between Jews and Arabs. Like a classic American song says, this land was made for you and me. From what I know about you and your character, we both have the shared belief that people are people and deserve to be treated as such regardless of their background. With extremists on both sides giving everyone a bad name, I feel reassured that we both want to see the best in people and we both believe that coming from a different cultural background does not mean we must clash: it means we must share and learn from one another.
I hope that in honor of your memory, more people will adopt that same mindset: be kind and live in peace amongst one another. It really should not be so difficult, and I’m glad we had a similar perspective.
Inspired by Hersh’s grand trip, which was cruelly and violently snatched from him, as he was stolen from his family and friends, my partner and I decided to dedicate some time abroad; following your footsteps across India and Sri Lanka, and hopefully give your spirit the adventure that was cruelly taken away. When he and I embark on our travels, we will make plans to will honor the trip you deserved to take.
I plan to keep a picture of you alongside both our American and Israeli passports and choose to believe that you’re on the trip with us.
I am struggling to find the words to express how much I look up to your parents and your family as a whole. Rachel, Jon, and the whole Goldberg-Polin clan, I am so sorry for the pain inflicted on you in the last year. Hearing your parents speak at the Democratic National Convention was a reminder that both sides of your identity – both American and Israeli – failed you. While President Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris’ statements are heartfelt, it is their responsibility to protect you as an American citizen, in any corner of the world.
In the days immediately following your capture, I met with Ruby Chen and his family outside the United States Embassy branch in Tel Aviv, trying to get President Biden’s attention for his son, Itay Chen. Itay was senselessly murdered as you were. Long before we knew this, his father reminded me of the Pledge of Allegiance we said daily in US public schools. As we waited for more sirens, he reminded me that the statement promised liberty and justice for all American citizens. When your death was announced, I cried as hard as I did at the announcement of his.
I urge American citizens who made Aliyah to live out their dreams of a future in Israel in honor of Hersh and Itay. Omer, Edan, Keith, I am longing for the day that I see a joint announcement from President Biden that they brought you back to safety alongside Israel’s government. Maybe then we can breathe.
I am an immigrant to Israel. I came here alone, with only my dog in tow, no other family here. Since then, I’ve built my own family here, and I plan to help it continue to grow. Hersh, young American olim felt a collective punch in the gut when we learned of your fate. It is our responsibility to build a sustainable and peaceful future here in your honor.
Even in the darkest of days, I am confident that American olim chadashim like myself, my partner, my friends, and my colleagues will do all we can to keep your story alive and to live out our days in Eretz Yisrael for you.
The writer is a Breaking News Desk Manager at the Jerusalem Post. She made Aliyah to Tel Aviv in December 2020 from Long Island, New York.