This Israeli hostage's message is powerful.
The words of Yarden Bibas, the recently released Israeli hostage who just buried his wife and two sons, was a profound and painful reflection of what it means to be a Jew. Jews everywhere must listen.
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By now you know the name Yarden Bibas, the courageous father of little 4-year-old Ariel and 9-month-old Kfir Bibas, whose abduction by Hamas on October 7th, alongside their mother Shiri, shocked the world.
Yarden, a 35-year-old devoted husband and father, was also wounded and taken from their home in Kibbutz Nir Oz, enduring nearly 16 months of captivity at the hands of a brutal terrorist organization.
He was taunted by his Hamas captors about the fate of his wife and children. They ordered him to film a video in which he accused Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu of refusing to return their bodies to Israel. It was branded a “propaganda video” by the IDF and was not published by Israeli media.
Over the course of the 484 days he spent in captivity, he was transferred from place to place, moving between homes and tunnels. He was subjected to physical and mental abuse, beaten by terrorists, and held in cages.
On Wednesday, 25 days after his return to Israel, he was forced to bury his entire world — his wife Shiri and two children, Ariel and Kfir, who were all kidnapped by Palestinian terrorists on October 7th and killed in captivity.
His eulogy at their funeral procession was telling. In it, there was not a single mention of the Israeli government, the IDF, or any other organ of Israel’s defense establishment. He did not make any explicit or implicit references to politics. Instead, he repeated one theme throughout:
“Shiri, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you all.”
“Ariel, I hope you’re not angry with me for failing to protect you properly and for not being there for you.”
“Kfir, I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better.”
In other words, Yarden took complete responsibility for him and his family.
His eulogy was more than an expression of grief; it was a profound and painful reflection of what it means to be a Jew in a world where we can never afford to take our security for granted.
At a time when many Jews would look outward, blaming institutions or leaders for their suffering, Yarden looked inward. He did not absolve Hamas of their cruelty, and I am sure deep down he is not ignoring the failures of those tasked with protecting Israel’s citizens.
But his words revealed something deeper: a sense of personal responsibility so intrinsic to the Jewish People’s survival that it transcends politics, bureaucracy, and even the horrors inflicted upon him.
His eulogy is a lesson for Jews everywhere. In an era where many seek to outsource responsibility — to governments, to institutions, to the goodwill of the so-called “international community” — Yarden’s words are a reminder that, at the end of the day, no one will protect us if we do not protect ourselves.
This has always been the Jewish story. We have endured exile, pogroms, and genocides, not because the world was fair, but because we took it upon ourselves to ensure that Judaism, Jewish life, and Jewish families endured.
Yarden’s sorrowful confession — “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you” — is not just the lament of a grieving father and husband. It is a call to Jews everywhere: to take ownership of our communities, our safety, and our future.
Whether in Israel or the Diaspora, we cannot rely on external forces to guarantee our security. We must build strong, self-sufficient communities. We must be vigilant, prepared, and resilient. We must teach our children not just about Jewish values, but about Jewish strength — physical, moral, spiritual, and communal.
Unfortunately, I see far too much infighting across the Jewish world, both in Israel and across the Diaspora. Rather than building bridges of support and collaboration, so many of us Jews have become God’s partners in prosecution, armchair judges who are so quick to condemn other Jews’ Judaism, as if our version is somehow superior — a clear breakaway from one of the original purposes of Judaism, to be God’s partner in creation.
We criticize based on face value and vanity, at the expense of channeling genuine curiosity to seek nuance, context, background, and depth. We have become so seduced by our own mildly informed opinions and intoxicating echo chambers that we become blinded to and uninterested in truth, or at least the pursuit of it.
From my vantage point, a significant part of Jewish division can be attributed to Jewish denominations (i.e. Reform, Conservative, Orthodox) — which were never part of the original Jewish plan or purpose. These denominations were essentially born in the last couple hundred years, as a response to Western civilization and cultures.
“Where was Reform, even Orthodox Judaism, 700 years ago? They did not exist because we did not define ourselves as a religion,” said Avraham Infeld, the great Jewish educator. “I know of no Jewish philosopher before the emancipation who understood being Jewish as anything other than this covenant of Peoplehood.”1
Jews are also incredibly divided by politics. In Israel, this makes some sense, since politics is the practice of who gets what, when, and how much — making it, in some regards, a zero-sum game. For example, if part of the Israeli government’s budget is going to sponsoring yeshivot2, then this money cannot be used in other areas that are more important to non-religious members of Israeli society; and vice versa.
Still, I and many other Israelis would love to see more unity within Israeli society, both inside and outside of Israeli politics.
But in the Diaspora, there is virtually no reason why Jews should be divided by politics. Unlike in Israel, where political decisions have immediate and tangible consequences for every citizen — determining national security, religious affairs, and economic priorities — Diaspora Jews do not share the same high-stakes political reality.
Yet, many Jews outside of Israel have allowed political differences to become a source of deep division, often prioritizing partisan identity over Jewish unity.
This is both unnecessary and dangerous. In the Diaspora, politics should not be a zero-sum game for Jews because they do not govern a shared state; they do not allocate a collective budget or manage national security. What they do share, however, is something far more important: a common history, heritage, and future as a people.
When Jews in the Diaspora allow political disagreements — whether over domestic policies, foreign affairs, or ideological divides — to tear them apart, they weaken the very thing that has sustained Jewish survival for thousands of years: communal strength.
Recently, I heard a story about a California rabbi who had to email his entire congregation, telling them to stop arguing within their synagogue walls about the results of last November’s U.S. presidential election.
I think this rabbi and many others would agree with me when I say that unity does not mean uniformity; we can all have different sociopolitical views. Instead, unity is about respect, empathy, and a shared commitment to something larger than our individual opinions. It means recognizing that, no matter how passionately we may disagree about taxes, immigration, climate policy, or even Israel itself, we are bound together by something deeper — our collective destiny as Jews.
Plus, the lesson of Jewish history is clear: Unity is a strategic necessity. When we focus on our shared destiny rather than our political differences, we thrive. When we allow external ideologies to drive a wedge between us, we become vulnerable. Whether Left-wing or Right-wing, religious or secular, Jews in the Diaspora must recognize that no political party or movement will ever prioritize Jewish continuity, security, or identity more than we can for ourselves.
This is the essence of Yarden Bibas’ eulogy: We only have ourselves to protect and to ensure our survival. No government, no politician, no caucus, no institution, no foreign power will ever care about the Jewish People as much as we care about ourselves. Yarden’s words were not just the sorrowful lament of a grieving father; they were an unwitting manifesto for Jewish self-reliance, for the idea that our fate is, and has always been, in our own hands.
Throughout history, Jews who placed their trust in external forces to safeguard their future — whether governments, kingdoms, or ideological movements — have often been met with betrayal or abandonment. The lesson is as old as the Jewish exile itself: When we fail to take responsibility for ourselves, we become vulnerable to those who wish to harm us (if not today, then sometime in the future).
Jewish history is littered with moments when Jews mistakenly believed they were fully integrated into the societies around them, only to be reminded — often violently — that their security was never truly guaranteed. Indeed, this is not just Jewish history. Look at all the violent antisemitism skyrocketing across the Western world since October 7th. It has been staring us in the face, screaming loud and clear. Are we listening?
Hence why unity is not just an abstract value, but a matter of survival. If we do not stand together, we make it easier for those who seek to divide, weaken, and ultimately erase us. Whether through the physical threats of rising antisemitism or the slow erosion of Jewish identity through assimilation, the threats facing the Jewish People today do not discriminate based on political leanings.
A secular Jew on a college campus facing antisemitic harassment, a religious Jew targeted in the streets of Sydney, or an Israeli Jew living under the shadow of terror — they are all part of the same story. When Jews are attacked, they are not asked who they voted for.
Yarden’s eulogy is a painful reminder that, at the end of the day, we must be able to look at ourselves and say: “Did we do enough? Did we protect our people?”
In the Diaspora, it means prioritizing Jewish unity, understanding, and acceptance (within reason) over sociopolitical squabbles. It means ensuring that Jewish communities remain strong and resilient, not divided by ideological infighting. It means recognizing that, while we may disagree on many things, the survival and strength of the Jewish People must always come first.
Because if we don’t take responsibility for ourselves, no one else will.
Yarden Bibas’ words should not just evoke tears; they should spark action. His pain is a reminder that Jewish survival is not passive; it is the result of deliberate, determined effort. If we want to ensure that no Jewish parent ever has to utter such heartbreaking words again, we must take responsibility — just as he did.
“Who is a Jew? Peoplehood Versus Religion.” eJewish Philanthropy.
The plural of yeshiva, a Jewish school where students study religious texts, such as the Torah and Talmud
Joshua, I woke up really angry at Israeli government and IDF decision makers who ignored all the signs of imminent terrorist attack, but your post calmed me down. If Yarden could reflect inwardly then we all can. Thanks for this well thought out response to the devastating divisiveness and our need to come together as Am Yisrael, wherever we are.
My comments have been about the disgraceful behavior of Jews Melanie Phillips writes eloquently and with glaring clarity about the harm Jews are doing to Jews. The atrocious behavior of the far left Jews who are either ambiguous about their own Jewish identity and the reality of a Jewish state and those who are virulent anti Zionists and equate the death of Arab children used as human shields by hamas with the Bibas children. Mr. Bibas was indeed eloquent and heart breaking in his comments. As with Mr. Frank I hope he finds the consolation ? the strength....I don't know exactly how to define this....to live his life honoring his murdered wife and children. As always, your comments are equally valuable and insightful.