Thursday, August 21, 2025
Elder of Ziyon
Ditza Or makes many secular people uncomfortable.
Her clothing marks her as a religious Jew, which, for some, is unsettling in
itself. But it isn’t her appearance that disturbs—it’s her words.
Ditza’s son, Avinatan, is being held hostage in Gaza.
To most of the world, he is known as Noa Argamani’s boyfriend—the handsome man
who, though bigger than his captors, chose to walk into captivity beside Noa
because he hoped to protect her.
Noa’s scream of terror, arms stretched out to Avinatan as she was whisked away
on a motorbike, was the moment the world saw them both—and the last time she
saw him.
Although she has not received a sign of life, Israeli
intelligence assures Ditza that Avinatan is alive. And alone. We’ve all seen
the videos of the other hostages, starved down to shadows of
themselves—concentration camp skeletons. We can only assume Avinatan’s
condition is the same.
Imagine, for one moment, what it’s like to be in
Ditza’s shoes. What would you say? What would you do if your child was a
hostage in the dungeons of Gaza?
We understand the parents willing to burn the world down, to do anything to
bring their son home NOW.
Ditza is not one of those parents. She articulates her anguish
matter-of-factly, her outward composure unsettlingly incongruent with the
horror she describes. As if that weren’t enough, Ditza speaks with
blood-chilling clarity, framing the physical nightmare as a manifestation of
our struggle—and failure—on the spiritual plane.
Ditza says things we don’t want to hear. The soul
recoils, which, to me, seems to be a sign that she is probably correct.
She points out that, 20 years after Jews were forcibly
expelled from Gaza in the Disengagement, her son was forcibly dragged into
Gaza—to the terror tunnels beneath. Avinatan has never once appeared on the
lists of hostages considered for release. He is alone. Starved. Suffering.
And yet, their family name is Or—“Light.”
Ditza explains that she believes souls choose their
journey before birth. Avinatan, she says, agreed to this nightmare being part
of the story of his life. He chose to play this role in the story of the Nation
of Israel. And that, she says, means he has the strength to endure it.
But why? Why must he suffer so? Why must their family
suffer so?
Avinatan’s father, Yaron, rarely speaks publicly about
his son. He’s worried sick—literally. His heart is struggling to withstand the
agony. For this reason, his twin brother (and my friend), Rabbi Shimon Or—who
has also suffered health-related stress issues—usually speaks in his stead.
Ditza, no less distraught, focuses on the spiritual and less on the political.
How could any mother find meaning in this horror? It
would be easier to stay in bed and remain in the dark, but Ditza says we must
understand what is happening before we can make it stop.
She speaks because she wants her son back.
Ditza says, the Nation of Israel is meant to be a
Light to the Nations. We have a job to do—an obligation to the world as well as
to ourselves.
On October 7th, when Israel was attacked with the most
revolting and obvious evil, the world looked to us. They expected us to show
them what Light does to Darkness. They expected to see good vanquish evil.
But that isn’t what happened.
Instead, we entered a long, grinding war—feeding the
enemy, releasing their fighters, allowing them to grow stronger. In doing so,
we blurred the line between good and evil. The world, watching, grows confused.
Even in Israel, some are confused. Perhaps what they thought was good is not.
Perhaps what they thought was evil is acceptable—even reasonable. Justifiable.
As a result, confusion is turning to anger: the Jewish people are failing in
our mission.
Ditza says that even those who don’t see or believe in
the spiritual realm feel it instinctively. They react—and lash out—without
consciously being able to articulate why.
She sees two possible choices.
One is surrender. Make a deal, bring home as many
hostages as possible, stop the war, save our soldiers. But she rejects this as
an illusion—Hamas will never release them all, and such a deal only ensures
another, even worse October 7.
The other choice is victory. To vanquish Hamas,
reclaim Gaza, and declare sovereignty. To take responsibility for the land that
is ours, because no one else can ensure our safety.
Israel, she says, has chosen neither. We have not
fought to truly defeat Hamas. We have endangered our soldiers, left our
hostages in hell, and failed to ensure that Israelis can safely return to their
homes. We have not chosen sovereignty, still hoping someone else will bear
responsibility for our future.
And it is this indecision, Ditza says, that is killing
us.
Matter-of-factly, she concludes: “My son will remain a
hostage in Gaza until we decide.”
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