Across the religious divide, two mothers of hostages find support in one another

On March 2, at the Saturday night rally for the hostages in Jerusalem, Ditsa Or, mother of hostage Avinatan Or, and Meirav Leshem Gonen, mother of hostage Romi Gonen, stood together onstage, in front of tens of thousands.

Ditsa Or, a resident of the West Bank settlement of Shilo, her hair wrapped in a scarf that marks her as a religiously observant woman, and Leshem Gonen from the northern town of Kfar Vradim, a secular woman in leggings, had a similar message to share.

They essentially said the same thing, without planning to, said Leshem Gonen via Zoom, speaking with Or, who was at The Times of Israel offices, on the following Thursday. Each woman spoke about the light within, about the ability to be unified.

“We’re from different places, and actually on stage, I heard us, secular and religious, saying the same thing,” said Leshem Gonen. “We all use these headlines that we’re used to hearing and that’s what creates the gap.”

She recalled another event for the hostage families in Tel Aviv’s Hostages Square, one that was more focused on prayer and song, and remembered translating some of the speeches for the secular members of the audience.

“I always feel like I’m translating,” she said. “I take it from the religious language to the secular language and then all those who are secular connect to it. It’s like any language, you have to understand it.”

The two women have now known each other for nearly five months, 153 days by this Thursday afternoon in March.

While they didn’t know some of the most basic details about one another — their professions — Leshem Gonen, 54, is a business coach, Or is a life coach and they laughed together about that similarity — and weren’t quite sure about the ages of their youngest children — Leshem Gonen has five kids, the youngest of whom is 16, while Or, 57, has seven, her youngest is 18 — they feel they have a very particular bond, not merely because both of their children are hostages in Gaza.

“We contain our contrasts,” said Or. “We have a distance between us in terms of what we believe, but we understand it and I feel a closeness, a connection, a love, that bridges those gaps.”

“The differences in our lives have a lot of meaning,” she added.

For Leshem Gonen, Or feels like “a distant sister,” she said. “There’s something similar in our essence, in our courage. It’s like we grew up in different places, but I don’t think we’re that different actually.”

The two met within the first weeks of October 7, as they grappled with the shock and trauma of finding out what happened to their children on October 7.

In fact, it took them a few minutes to remember exactly when they met one another. “I can’t remember anything these days,” said Leshem Gonen.

Or finally recalled first meeting Leshem Gonen when some of the families first met with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

“That was on October 22,” said Leshem Gonen. “I remember that because no one was mentioning the hostages as a goal of the war and I went on TV and made a stink and the next day, the hostages were added as one of the two war goals.”

Or was stunned to realize that the prime minister only met with the hostage families more than two weeks after their loved ones had been taken captive by Hamas terrorists into Gaza.

“I was sure it was before that,” she said, half murmuring to herself. “I would’ve said October 10 or 12.”

Both mothers were at home on that fateful Shabbat morning of October 7 when their children were dragged into Gaza. Romi Gonen, 23, and Avinatan Or, 30, were both at the Supernova desert rave.

Leshem Gonen last heard from Romi at 10:58 a.m. on Saturday, October 7, as she and her friends tried to escape the Hamas assault on the music festival.

Romi had been on the phone with her mother, Leshem Gonen, all morning, since the terrorists first attacked the outdoor event at 6:30 a.m. She was in a car with friends when she told her mother at 10:15 a.m. that they had been shot and she was bleeding.

Avinatan, 30, and his girlfriend Noa Argamani, hid for several hours, trying to call for rescue forces. They shared their location and let their friends and families know what was happening.

Later that day, a Hamas video of Avinatan and Argamani was posted on Telegram, showing Argamani on an all-terrain vehicle, as she calls in fear, crying, “Don’t kill me!” reaching out her arms to Avinatan, who is being marched away from her, surrounded by at least three terrorists.

Or, a Sabbath observer, said she didn’t find out about her son until around 4 p.m. on that Shabbat afternoon when several of her children came to tell her in person.

One of her sons had already been called up for reserve duty and was on his way south when a friend called to tell him about the video featuring Avinatan and Argamani. Or said that her son turned the car around and drove straight to one of the television studios, telling anyone who would listen that the army should try to catch up with those being marched into Gaza.

“He yelled, ‘Stop them, they’re taking them to Gaza and if they go in, it will be a terrible story,'” said Or. “He didn’t succeed. So yes, they took a Shabbat ‘stroll’ from Re’im to Gaza and haven’t come back yet.”

Or said she’s watched the video of Avinatan and Noa in tiny, short bursts, unable to watch it in its entirety as it is too painful. She is in touch with Noa Argamani’s parents, undergoing their own painful process as Noa is an only child and her mother, Leora Argamani, is dying of cancer.

But since October 7, both Or, Leshem Gonen and their families have worked tirelessly — “all day long,” said Or — to bring their children home. They, their partners, their other children and other family members are now familiar faces in Israel, speaking publicly, giving interviews, and focused entirely on this goal.

“It’s a profession that you sort of learn,” said Or.

“It’s not a choice,” said Leshem Gonen. “But I can’t wait to be done with it, I don’t want to interview any longer.”

Or said she doesn’t go out much other than for meetings and interviews, often wearing sunglasses and putting her head down because she doesn’t want to be recognized by people, and that happens, sometimes.

Right now, however, five months into this trauma, they’re both tired, weary of the battle to bring their children home, and hopeful, perhaps, that it may end soon.

Negotiations for the hostages have been ongoing ahead of Ramadan, which begins on Sunday evening, March 10 through April 9 and has been seen as a deadline for a truce deal that could see the release of at least 40 hostages.

“I feel tired,” said Leshem Gonen. “It’s too much on my shoulders, I wait for Shabbat to come, to be with the kids, there are other kids at home who need me.”

Both women spoke about being far more private and personal in their former lives, something they crave to have once again when their children are released from captivity.

“I find myself in front of a microphone and the cameras and that’s a change,” said Or. “I think Avinatan will be impressed,” she added, smiling.

Leshem Gonen calls herself “one of the most private people around,” describing her usual workday, spent at home, in Zoom and phone calls with clients.

“I don’t know Knesset members, I didn’t watch TV for years, and I certainly never talk about my private life. I’m super private and to suddenly throw all that out the window? To cry in front of cameras? Maybe eight people saw me cry before October 7,” said Leshem Gonen.

The goal of seeing their children again, of making sure the matter of the hostages remains front and center for the government, is what keeps them going.

Both women speak in certainties about bringing their children home.

“I’m scared that Romi will say, ‘Mom, what took so long?'” said Leshem Gonen.

“It’s not up to you, it’s not in our hands,” said Or.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Leshem Gonen.

“You turned the world over from the first day,” said Or. “You did everything you could and what you couldn’t do, that it’s taking so long isn’t your fault.”

Leshem Gonen sometimes thinks about all the rehabilitation ahead for Romi, but doesn’t focus on it.

“I don’t know what it will be like and I don’t like to imagine it,” she said. “I know she’ll be back in the next week or two but I put those thoughts aside because it drains my strength.”

Likewise for Or, who said she never imagines Avinatan in Gaza, in captivity, as those thoughts weaken her resolve.

“Avinatan is a bunker,” said Or. “We’ll need to be patient and we’ll want to know everything, but we’ll have to match his pace.”

She does think about the moment when she sees him for the first time, she said, with a small smile on her face.

The Or family is part of a recent hostage initiative, counting down the days until the Passover seder, imagining Avinatan and the other hostages sitting at their families’ holiday tables in less than 50 days.

“To feel that, to smell the scents of a seder, to be there, just for 30 seconds,” said Or. “That I can see.”

“I say, don’t pray, just believe,” said Leshem Gonen.