Gilad Korngold knows very little about what happened to his son on October 7. He knows that Tal, the 39-year-old father of Jahel and Nava and his wife Adi, was taken by Hamas from Kibbutz Beri. Yes, luckily, he was not hurt, he was dressed, stuffed into the trunk of a car, and then disappeared into the hell that is the fate of an Israeli hostage in Gaza.
He believes that Tal is alive, or at least tells himself that he must believe that Tal is alive. He also knows from the stories of other hostages that they were sometimes able to listen to Israeli radio or see their families on Al Jazeera, the Qatari news channel present throughout the Arab world.
That's why Korngold, a 62-year-old struggling to stay strong, never misses an opportunity to appear on the radio. He hopes that maybe the radio waves will carry his voice 15 kilometers across the Gaza border and let Tal know that his family hasn't abandoned him, even if he believes the Israeli government and the world have.
He tells his son, "we love you, if you can hear us, know that your family is protected," he says. "I need you to be strong, because we are close to the goal".
However, a full year has passed since October 7, and "we are still nowhere near the goal." Tal's wife and children, then aged 8 and 3, were released in November, during an exchange of Israeli hostages for Palestinian prisoners. However, their father is still in Gaza.
Much of Korngold's anger is directed at Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, whose government he claims is "doing everything to forget the hostage issue." Korngold insists: "He's not interested in hostages."
He also doesn't understand the lack of international attention. He complains that the International Committee of the Red Cross does not report any news about the hostages, but protests the conditions in which Palestinian prisoners are being held in Israel. The Europeans are sending aid to Gaza, but doing little even for the two dozen or so Israeli hostages with EU passports, he says. The Americans have the power to force Hamas and Netanyahu to negotiate and say, "Don't eat, don't sleep, don't breathe, don't drink until (an agreement is reached), but they seem to have their own schedule."
“Do you know why I hate Hamas?” says Hai Bar-El, a human rights lawyer in Tel Aviv. "I hate Hamas because it forces my children to kill Palestinian children"
Not even the fate of Kfir and Ariel Bibas, who turned 1 and 5 in Hamas captivity, and whose red hair and blue eyes are everywhere in Israel on "Bring Them Home" posters, can't seem to wake up the Israeli government or the world. "How come no one cares," Korngold asks. "Not in this country. Not in the United States. Not in Europe."
"No one talks about it. The world has soccer, the World Cup, now next month probably the Winter Olympics or something like that," he says. "The world has gone mad".
For many Israelis, the world has indeed gone mad. They understand almost instinctively that they are on the wrong side of international public opinion when it comes to the larger unresolved issues of Israel's place in the Middle East and the question of a Palestinian state.
However, when it comes to the fate of their hostages, the frail elderly and innocent children, the young women facing the threat of sexual assault and the civilian fathers held as able-bodied POWs - they cannot fathom how little the world seems to care.
A year has passed since October 7, when Hamas militants stormed Israel's southern kibbutzim, outwitting the Israeli military and rampaging through the small, often isolated settlements of Zionist utopias, terrorizing the Jewish state.
During that year, Israelis saw initial outpourings of sympathy gradually turn to condemnation and criticism, especially as the suffering and suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza became apparent.
"A catastrophe happened here, one of the most heinous days in the history of the world when Israelis went through things that even the Nazis would have recoiled from," said Udi Goren, whose relative was among the 1.200 people Israeli officials say died on Oct. 7. and Hamas still holds his body. "It was that one day, that's how the war started, but after the first day, all you hear is: 'The people of Gaza are suffering.'
"What I least want is some kind of competition as to who suffers more," he says. "Civilians in Gaza shouldn't have to suffer so much, and neither should we, but when you have this story that looks like David and Goliath, it's very, very easy to overlook the destruction and the price we're paying."
In Israel's war against Hamas, according to Gaza health officials, nearly 42.000 people, mostly women and children, were killed, and the enclave was destroyed in a powerful offensive.
Of the 2,3 million inhabitants of Gaza, almost all of them have been displaced, most of their homes have been destroyed, they are forced to live and take care of their children in the ruins and in the abandoned wasteland. Disease is spreading, hunger is everywhere.
Condemnation of the Israel Defense Forces' actions in Gaza, even from their closest allies, has influenced Israelis to become alienated and introverted. Despite strong support from the United States and many Western governments, Israelis today say they feel abandoned by the world, portrayed as callous to the suffering of Palestinians, even though they are almost entirely convinced they are acting in self-defense and waging a just war against an enemy hiding behind civilians .
“Do you know why I hate Hamas?” says Hai Bar-El, a human rights lawyer in Tel Aviv. "I hate Hamas because it forces my children to kill Palestinian children".
How Israelis feel is important not only as a matter of empathy, but also because it shapes the military campaigns Israel is now waging across the region. The sense of threat that has crept into Israeli society, combining victimization with anger, has resulted in overwhelming support for the continued assault on Gaza.
Even before ending the war in Gaza, where clear victory and the return of hostages remain elusive, Netanyahu directed the full force of the IDF on Israel's northern border against the Lebanese militant group Hezbollah.
Israelis today say they feel abandoned by the world, portrayed as callous to the suffering of Palestinians, even though they are almost entirely convinced they are acting in self-defense and waging a just war against an enemy hiding behind civilians
That conflict, simmering alongside fierce fighting in Gaza, began when Hezbollah fired rockets into Israel the day after Oct. 7, fueling latent fears that the country faces an existential threat from Iran and its proxies.
In recent weeks, Israel has killed Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah and many of his top commanders, while launching waves of airstrikes on Lebanon and a ground offensive in the south of the country. Israeli bombs killed more than 1.000 Lebanese and forced more than a million people to flee their homes.
Rooftop bars in Tel Aviv celebrated the killing of Nasrallah, who was as hated as he was feared in Israel. Killed in a bunker deep underground after dozens of bombs leveled six apartment blocks in Beirut, the pilot boasted of Israel's ability to reach "everyone, everywhere."
Netanyahu is running this campaign with the country's support, plunging it into the longest period of war in its 75-year history, and his far-right government is channeling collective national anger into more wars.
He condemns allies who dare to call for "de-escalation", promising Israelis to resist global pressure to continue to achieve Israel's war aims - "total victory" against Hamas and the degradation and defeat of Hezbollah - while warning Iran that "there is no place " in the Middle East which "the long arm of Israel cannot reach".
The world is anxiously awaiting his response to last Sunday's Iranian missile attack on Israel, worried it could spark the all-out war the region has long feared.
"We had the reputation of being a weak society, that we are not determined, that we are not ready to go all the way". says Micah Goodman, a philosopher and prominent Israeli intellectual, referring to speeches by Nasrallah and Iran's Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei. "The Israelis want to repair that reputation and get to the point where the West understands us, but the Middle East fears us - then the Israelis will finally feel safe."
This difference between how Israelis see themselves and how the world sees them is nowhere more evident than in the civilian consequences of the Gaza war. Earlier this year, 94 percent of Israeli Jews believed their military was using either the right amount or too little force in Gaza.
When they turn on the televisions, Israelis see little or nothing about the destruction in Gaza, the fate of Palestinians who have been attacked and forced to leave their territories by Jewish settlers in the occupied West Bank, or the destruction in Lebanon. Instead, since the vast majority of the mainstream media keeps pace with the war, Israeli news focuses mostly on Israel's military operations and the fate of the hostages.
If Israelis wonder why international anger at the IDF's behavior outweighs sympathy for their pain over October 7, for many the answer is that it is a case of anti-Semitism that has been opened and then closed. Ehud Olmert, the former Israeli prime minister, admits that anti-Semitism is on the rise, but he believes that the often more innocent explanation is human nature, a natural sympathy for the weaker.
"Turn on the TV and you see 1,5 million Palestinians walking through the ruins of Gaza with plastic bags, looking for a place to sleep, something to eat," he says. "At that point, you don't want to see 1.200 Israelis killed (on October 7), nor 70.000 displaced.
"They know that the Israelis have a government that will take care of them, a government that they may think is committing war crimes against the Palestinians," he continues. "This perception may not be fair, it may not be honest, it may not be accurate, but it is very difficult to fight against it".
Goodman, an Israeli intellectual, argues that the suffering of Israelis should not be minimized just because the country is more powerful. "That's how an Israeli feels today, you feel radically misunderstood, you feel invisible," he says. "Israelis see how hostile people are on the streets of Europe and among academic elites in America, but do these people see that Israel is fighting for its existence?".
Israel, according to him, is caught between its desire to be accepted by the West - mainly the US - while trying to survive in the Middle East, surrounded by mortal enemies. "Trying to maintain a high level of legitimacy also erodes our deterrent power, because we will avoid doing the things we need to do because we don't want to lose America's support," he says.
That tension is further exacerbated by the fact that many Israelis feel that the current threat from Iran represents the greatest danger the country has faced since the 1973 Yom Kippur War.
Lior, a former police officer who retrained as a therapist, says versions of this fear have now become chronic among her 30 or so patients in the form of the idea that they might one day be forced to choose between their homes and their safety. She asked not to be identified by last name, as discussing the confessions of her patients, even in summary form, could jeopardize her license to practice medicine.
One of her patients spent the first few days after the Hamas attack locked in her safe room, downloading dozens, if not hundreds, of videos posted online by militants and witnesses to the massacre. Now she carries a gun, her car is always filled with gas, and she's considering getting a large guard dog, even though she lives in central Israel far from any possible cross-border incursion.
"The whole country is experiencing a common trauma," says Lior. Ask your (Israeli) friends how safe they feel, and count all the terms in their answers."
Inside Israel, the fate of the hostages has become perhaps the most contentious issue of the war, says Sharon Lifshitz, daughter of 86-year-old Yoshevet and 85-year-old Oded, who were abducted from their homes in Kibbutz Nir Oz.
A significant majority of Israelis want Netanyahu to accept a US-backed deal that could lead to their release in exchange for a ceasefire with Hamas and the release of Palestinian prisoners. Netanyahu refused, saying that in that version Hamas would remain intact.
Yoshevet roused the nation with a spontaneous and unfiltered press conference on the day of her release, just 16 days after her capture, but divided public opinion when she offered a handshake to a masked Hamas militant as she was handed over to the International Committee of the Red Cross. Her husband, frail and old, remains in captivity and it is not clear if he is alive.
Now, Sharon says, the fate of her father and the other hostages has become so politicized that some sometimes see them as the reason Israel can't achieve the "total victory" Netanyahu keeps promising the country. The families of the hostages almost unanimously favor a truce, arguing that the political and military cost of that truce is the responsibility of Netanyahu and the military for their failures on October 7. Netanyahu's far-right allies describe it as a capitulation and threaten to topple his government if he agrees.
"Now you have people whose children are soldiers in Gaza and they think that their children are not free to fight because of the hostages," Sharon says. She worries that in "the depths of their hearts, they just want the hostages to be gone."
In many ways, she wonders if the compassion non-Israelites feel for her father, who is so weak and in captivity for so long, is diminished by people's attitudes toward Israel itself. "It's a complicated topic, people confuse hostages with the government," she said. "Israel is a bit like a hostage in the world - many would rather not be there".
Korngold, Tal's father, says that while they await a possible hostage deal, he knows he "has to support the family." They are not only dealing with the continued absence of his son: three members of the extended family also died on October 7 in the kibbutz.
Korngold's grandchildren are still haunted by the memories of captivity, where they spent 50 days with little food, where they were guarded by armed men, were forbidden to speak, so that Israel's collaborators would not, based on their Hebrew, discover that they were hostages and sell their location to the Israeli the army.
"The kids saw everything that happened," including the dead bodies of friends and neighbors, he says. "The situation is actually very bad now, worse than at the beginning... They are talking about their father. They know exactly where he is".
Without it, Korngold says, "it's very difficult to help them recover."
Translation: NB
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