In the heart of Tel Aviv, families of people kidnapped by Hamas, along with friends and supporters calling for the safe return of more than 220 hostages, have set up camp. In front of Sarona Market, at least 100 people have gathered alongside families of victims who have suffered at the hands of Hamas.
This year, every Saturday evening after Shabbat closed out, Kaplan Street in Tel Aviv was filled with protests against Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s proposed judicial reform. Hundreds of thousands of Israelis gathered to demonstrate against the government.
But now Kaplan Street has become the site where people gather to show signs of solidarity for the captive and their loved ones. Following Hamas’s October 7 invasion, leaving 1,400 dead, Kaplan became the home of a more somber protest.
Despite the release of a couple of hostages, the IDF’s most recent number of hostages stands at 224 captives.Gabriela Lemberg, 59. Oria Brodutch, four. Roni Eshel, 19. Denil Kimenfeld, 65. Elyakim Libman, 24. Ofir Engel, 17.
These names represented just a handful of those held captive in Gaza by Hamas. You could find their names on posters hung around the complex, held by family members and strangers alike.
The area is centered on two makeshift encampments on each side of the Kirya military headquarters, the seat of the IDF’s top brass. Dozens of protesters, including relatives of the hostages, stay there from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. to push for the captives’ return.
Here, they are calling for support from both civilians and government officials for their missing loved ones. The setup has created a community that no one ever thought they would have.
Wallpapering the cities, pictures of stolen people
Hundreds of posters line the busy street in Hebrew and English, similar to the ones now wallpapering major cities across the United States. They display the word “Kidnapped” in capital letters along with the name and photo of a hostage, and some biographical details. Several signs read, “Free the hostages now!”
Other initiatives across Israel also aim to draw attention to the hostages. Just blocks away from the tents, at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, a Shabbat table with 200 empty chairs symbolizes the captives. Tech workers have organized to help identify their missing fellow citizens. Family members of the hostages have held press conferences and met with the country’s leaders and other heads of state.
Overnight, Kaplan Street became the symbol of solidarity, a new call to action. The demonstration’s political ties are more subtle – people from both the Left and Right coming together to call on the government to do more to release the hostages.
“WE ARE here opposite the people who need to release them,” said Itzik, 73, a history teacher who declined to share his full name and had been coming to Kaplan for a few days. He is a family friend of Liri Albag, an 18-year-old soldier who was taken captive while on duty at Kibbutz Nahal Oz on the Gaza border.
“I do not have the strength to volunteer with all the physical efforts,” Itzik said. “But here I am able to give something by strengthening the families with my presence.”
In the wake of the massacre, Netanyahu has become increasingly unpopular, with a recent poll showing that most Israelis want him to resign after the war. But following October 7 and Israel’s ensuing war against Hamas in Gaza, Israelis have also described a newfound unity of purpose following years of deepening political divisions.
There was an overwhelming sense of grief in the air, a feeling of fatigue that could not be shaken. All family members approached expressed that they felt exhausted by their fight to bring their loved ones home. Their lives will never be the same. They speak of the inability to go about their daily lives and the pure exhaustion that comes from the weight of knowing that family members are held captive.
Yaarit Shaibi lives in Tel Aviv. Her only cousin, 26-year-old Noa Argamani, was kidnapped from the Supernova music festival, where hundreds were massacred at the hands of Hamas. Shortly after rocket warning sirens sounded across Israel, Shaibi and her family called to check on each other. She quickly called her aunt and uncle, Noa’s parents, who live in Beersheba.
Her family was frazzled, and with no way of knowing just how bad things would be, started calling around to hospitals to see whether she was injured and receiving treatment. Shaibi posted a photo of her on Facebook asking for any information possible.
“Within minutes, multiple friends of mine called to let me know that they had seen a video. It was of Noa on the back of a motorcycle, being taken away,” Shaibi told The Jerusalem Post. She called her family to let them know, at which point everyone was already en route to Beersheba. En route, the family learned of a second video of Noa, reportedly in Gaza, drinking water.
“Since then, time has stood still,” Shaibi said. Her entire family has not been able to take a moment to decompress, with no semblance of normalcy anywhere on the horizon.
“Every day, we have been moving from sanity to insanity, and back again,” she added.
Noa Argamani’s family has not only been dealing with the pain associated with her abduction, but also with the anguish associated with Noa’s mother’s illness. Noa’s parents have spent every day at Ichilov Hospital in Tel Aviv as her mother battles an aggressive cancer.
Though the torment has been nonstop, Shaibi and other advocates of friends and family members have found solace and support in each other’s presence.
“Here, we’re meeting people who are sharing the same pain. Together, it feels like we are doing something, we have a shared purpose,” she said.
Shaibi said that she looks forward to being able to just be with Noa and her family, spending time together, because that is only a dream at the moment.
Though the family is devastated by Noa’s captivity, they understand that seeing a video of their loved one is almost a luxury in this horrifying situation. The mental anguish when there is no photographic evidence – a different kind of torture – can be worse.
Setting up a protest tent is something of a tradition in Israeli activism. The parents of Gilad Schalit, a soldier kidnapped by Hamas in 2006, set up a tent opposite the Prime Minister’s Residence in Jerusalem and stayed there for 15 months until their son was freed in a prisoner exchange in 2011. That same year, Israelis camped out on Tel Aviv’s Rothschild Boulevard in protest of the country’s high cost of living. This year, opponents of Netanyahu’s effort to weaken the judiciary camped out briefly near the Knesset.
Dafna Sheer, a 70-year-old Israeli living in Hofit, a coastal town about 40 km. north of the protest tents, said she came to Kaplan on Sunday because she is “heartbroken” by the thought that “it could have been my grandchild” who was taken captive. She blames Netanyahu for the recent disaster and current response. “He must resign,” she said bluntly.
One of the protesters holding a sign opposite passersby was Tamar Bialik, 49, a Tel Aviv resident and member of Israel’s trance music community. She said she went from “shiva to shiva” before arriving at the Kaplan tent to advocate for two friends who were abducted by Hamas terrorists at the music festival.
Other volunteers, like Matan Yehudai, 23, an activist for Erim Erot, an anti-judicial reform activist group, showed up daily, sometimes multiple times a day, to provide assistance anywhere possible. Yehudai fostered connections with different family members of survivors, making them feel safe and supported. He helped organize signs, watched over prayer and meditation circles, and focused his energy on finding family members who would feel comfortable sharing their struggle.
From the group of women between the ages of 40 and 95 who showed up daily to hold supportive signs, to the people standing on the side of the road waiting to pass yellow ribbons to anyone who would take them, it became increasingly clear that, time and again, the biggest advocates for the welfare of Israelis are just that – Israelis themselves.
JTA contributed to this report.