President Isaac Herzog on Sunday addressed the State Memorial Ceremony for Civilian Victims of Terror in the current conflict.
Dear and beloved bereaved families, I know nothing can heal the shattered world you now live in. All I can do is embrace you and pray—in the name of an entire nation—that you may find healing and comfort, and that we may be worthy of your sacrifice. Today, I stand here as President of the State of Israel and ask for your forgiveness. Forgiveness for our failure to protect your loved ones. Forgiveness for breaking the most basic and binding contract between a state and its citizens—their security and lives.
The children's song "Come, Mother" was written by Lea Naor, a founding member of Kibbutz Nahal Oz, over fifty-five years ago. It is a plea and a prayer from a child to their mother: "All the light has long gone, please don't suddenly leave as well. Come, mother, come, mother, come sit with me a little." "Come, mother"—words that have taken on a chilling, painful meaning since the October 7th massacre on Simchat Torah. "Come, Mother." When I think about this song now, I imagine little Romi and Lia Swissa from Sderot, who saw their mother Odaya, and father Dolev murdered before their eyes by monstrous attackers. I think of Almog Levy, who was only two years and three months old when his mother, Eynav, was killed at the Nova Festival. Almog is still waiting for his father, Or, who is held captive in Gaza, to return. I think of the twelve-year-old twins Liel and Yannai Hatzroni from Be'eri, who are inseparable in life and death. Just before she was murdered, Liel asked the security forces, "Can you please come take us? I’m just a girl, and I have school tomorrow."
I think of the ten-month-old twins Roy and Guy, who were left alone in the safe room in Kfar Aza for hours, after their parents, Itay and Hadar Berdichevsky, were murdered. I think of the children of Smadar and Roee Idan, of blessed memory, and of Gil Taasa, of blessed memory, and Sabine, who should live a long life, who witnessed their parents' murders that terrible day and showed courage and mutual responsibility beyond imagination. I think of Ariel and Kfir Bibas, and their mother Shiri and father Yarden, who were kidnapped—and whose fates are still unknown, echoing around the world.
I think of entire families erased! Of Evgeny and Dina and their children, Aline, seven, and Ethan, five—the Kapishter family—who, returning from a camping trip, encountered terrorists on their way home to Be'er Sheva, and none survived. I think of the Kotz family from Kfar Aza. Father Aviv, mother Livnat, and their children—Rotem, Yiftach, and Yonatan. Aviv managed to gather them close and hug them tightly before they were killed. That’s how they were found—burned, embraced, bound with barbed wire wrapped around them by their despicable murderers. I think of the Kedem-Siman Tov family from Nir Oz—Tamar and Johnny, their twin daughters Shahar and Arbel, five-and-a-half years old, and little Omer, only two. A beautiful, beloved family, slaughtered entirely.
My brothers and sisters, about 900 innocent citizens have fallen in this cruel conflict, which began with the murderous assault by Hamas monsters who attacked us with barbaric cruelty, an utter crime against humanity. Among them are dozens of infants, children, young girls, and boys—entire worlds, our future! Your hopes, dear families, and our hopes. Hundreds of children were orphaned by hostilities. More than a hundred parents left with no children at all. Nearly two thousand citizens are left without siblings.
Believe me, I would love, with all my heart, to tell the story of each and everyone here today. Each and every one of the citizens—our daughters and sons, our beautiful and gentle sisters and brothers—who were murdered on October 7th and throughout this campaign, even in recent days. To mention each name, to describe each laugh, each smile, each beautiful face, and all the dreams cut short. There is so much to tell. But we have so many fallen. Too many. Jews, Muslims, Druze, and Christians; veterans and new immigrants; Israelis and citizens of other countries from all walks of life, beliefs, and outlooks—slaughtered, wounded, or abducted—in cities, kibbutzim, villages, at music festivals, in fields, bases, and every corner of life.
Yet, it’s not only the terrible loss I see before me, but also the heroism, the resilience, the love, and the faith. Even there, in the depths of darkness, in the valley of death, in the long hours of terror, your loved ones shone, glowed, and illuminated. Heroes of all ages, without uniforms and often without weapons, who stood before the enemies with supreme bravery and noble spirit, even in their final moments. In their homes, in cribs, in safe rooms, on pathways, in stairwells, in courtyards, at party sites, in clinics, in shelters, in Hamas tunnels—held captive in Gaza. We will never forget their bravery and sacrifice during this challenging campaign—in the south, in the north, across the entire land, and abroad.
Dear, cherished bereaved families, esteemed guests. Together with you, I hope, pray, and cry—over and over again—for the return of the captives who have been crying out to us from the dark tunnels for over a year: "Save us." The voices of our sisters and brothers cry to us from beneath the ground, and we must act in every way to save them and bring them home! We now have a window of opportunity that we must seize! The sanctity of life flowing through our veins as a nation and a state compels us urgently to fulfill the supreme human, moral, Jewish, and Israeli duty: to bring them back—some to their homes, and some to a Jewish burial.
We must continue to act to restore and support you—the bereaved families of the victims of hostilities—in every way; and to rehabilitate, return, and help the uprooted families and communities from their homeland to rebuild with full security.
I pray—in the name of the entire nation—for the success and safety of the soldiers of the Israel Defense Forces and security forces and their commanders on land, in the air, and at sea, and for the healing of body and soul of all those wounded in hostilities and Israel’s campaigns. These days, we are reminded painfully of how difficult their journey back to life is and how much support and guidance they need all along the way. May the memory of the victims of hostilities from October 7th—Simchat Torah—and throughout this entire campaign be forever engraved on the heart of the nation for generations to come.