On Yom Kippur, my brother-in-law is still a hostage. How do I atone for that?
Our failure to free the hostages is an ongoing sin
Omri Miran and his wife, Lishay Lavi. Miran has been held captive by Hamas since Oct. 7, 2023. Courtesy of Lavi-Miran Family
As we stand before the open ark on Yom Kippur, reciting the solemn words of the Kol Nidre, we must confront a painful truth: One year has passed since the Oct. 7 massacre, and still, 101 hostages — more than half of them believed to be still alive — remain in captivity.
Among them is my brother-in-law. Omri Miran. We have failed those who need us most. We have much to atone for.
This Yom Kippur, I grapple with profound questions: Have we done enough for those we have lost? Have we done enough for those we can still save? The answers, I fear, are not comforting.
A full year has passed since that devastating morning when Hamas terrorists invaded Israeli communities, slaughtering civilians and taking hundreds hostage. Omri was forcibly separated from his family — my sister Lishay and their two daughters, Roni and Alma — and dragged into Gaza.
Omri and Lishay built a life of love and purpose. They met in 2020, at the height of the global pandemic, and what began in a time of isolation and separation grew into a beautiful partnership.
They made their home in Kibbutz Nahal Oz, just a few miles from Gaza, where they raised their two young daughters. Omri, a peaceful soul, worked as a shiatsu massage therapist and gardener, committed to healing and nurturing both people and the land. Lishay, equally dedicated to helping others, leads educational programs for Bedouin students, breaking down barriers in a region where tensions run high. Together, Omri and Lishay created a life defined by love, community and hope for a better future.
That hope was shattered on Oct. 7, when Hamas militants attacked their home, holding Omri, Lishay, and their daughters captive at gunpoint. For hours, the family watched in horror as their kibbutz burned and their neighbors were executed. Then, in an agonizing moment of separation, Omri was taken into Gaza while Lishay and the girls were left behind.
Thankfully, they were later rescued by Israeli forces, but Omri remains in captivity, his fate hanging in the balance.
In late April, Hamas released a psychological warfare video showing Omri alongside American hostage Keith Siegal, both alive but visibly unwell. Their distress serves as a haunting reminder of the harsh conditions they endure, deepening the anguish felt by their families and loved ones.
It has been a year of unbearable misery and relentless efforts to secure the release of Omri and the other hostages. Families like mine have traveled across Israel and the world, meeting with world leaders and religious figures, sharing our stories with media outlets, and pleading for action with communities, intellectuals and influencers.
Yet, despite all our efforts, Omri and 100 additional hostages are still captive. Omri’s daughters have spent birthdays without him, marking so many milestones yet sharing them only with his Bring Them Home poster. Lishay, meanwhile, is constantly on the streets, advocating for Omri’s release while grappling with the trauma as an Oct. 7 survivor.
I am struck by how little progress has been made. The Israeli government, in its legitimate and necessary fight against Hamas, has failed to prioritize what it can achieve in the short term — bringing the hostages home.
This failure extends to the international community as well, where countries like Iran, Qatar, and Turkey — complicit directly or indirectly in Hamas’s Oct. 7 atrocities — have faced little to no pressure to use their levers and force Hamas to agree to a viable deal. The world’s powerful nations have tolerated this ongoing hostage crisis for too long, seemingly accepting it as part of the broader conflict.
Earlier this week, Hamas committed to a guerrilla war of attrition, a strategy that will not only bring calamity to the people of Gaza but could also result in the deaths of all the hostages it holds. This grim outlook underscores the urgent need for a recalibration of our priorities — as if Hamas’s cold-blooded execution of six hostages on Aug. 29 wasn’t proof enough.
A binding social contract is at the heart of Jewish tradition — a covenant obliging us to one another. It compels us to act in the face of injustice, to rally for our people, and to protect our own. This covenant is the moral force behind the Jewish value of pidyon shvuyim — the redemption of captives — one of the most profound duties we, Jews, are called to fulfill.
Yet, we seem to have lost this moral obligation. The Israeli government continues to focus primarily on military operations, treating the battle against Hamas — and now Hezbollah — as its only mission.
But while the fight against Islamist terror is essential, it is a long-term struggle. The immediate and achievable goal is the return of the hostages. Polls show that the majority of Israelis agree with this, yet our leadership is glorifying tactical military achievements — which are not converted to strategic plans — while ignoring the cries of families still waiting for news from Gaza.
As citizens of democratic nations, we have a responsibility to demand action from our leaders. We must urge the Israeli government to prioritize the return of our captives while also calling out the international community for its failure to force Hamas and its leader, Yahya Sinwar, to agree to a viable deal that includes their removal from post-war Gaza.
We cannot change Hamas; its military and governing capabilities must be destroyed, and its destructive ideology can only be stifled through strategic diplomatic action that is based on compromise, mutual recognition, and co-existence for the Middle East. But we can ensure we do not harden our hearts and become desensitized to the suffering of our own people.
As we recite the Al Chet on Yom Kippur and confess our communal sins, we must add a new transgression to the prayer: The sin of allowing our hostages to be forgotten and abandoned, acknowledging what we have allowed to happen, both on that tragic day and in the year that has followed.
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