Israeli ex-hostage Yocheved Lifshitz: Hamas offered to unconditionally release her in earliest days of the war, but Israel refused
"Sinwar came in, I didn't pay attention to him" | Listen to Yochka Lifshitz in conversation with Nahum Barnea
"When I was kidnapped, I said to myself - Yochka, you write a diary. I didn't have pen and paper. I tried to remember things in my head, every detail." Yochka Lifshitz (86) was released after 16 days, and is still waiting for her husband Oded. In a special conversation, she tells about the moment when the leader of Hamas entered the room where she was held, about the spring of dreams that was broken, about the bloody Nir Oz community and the meeting with Netanyahu: "He said, 'I know what it is to be a prisoner: I went through a series of captivity in a patrol of the General Staff.' I laughed"
A few nights after Yochaved (Yochka) Lifshitz, 86, returned from captivity in Gaza, she had a dream: her husband Oded, 84, who was kidnapped separately, arrived alive in Gaza and has since been lost. He sang her "I will not ask for your hand", a poem by Georges Bresens translated by Naomi Shemer. "Therefore, if my peace is dear to you/ rest your head on the pillow/ one way or another./ not according to law or religion/ my love will be forever/ because you remember."
She woke up her daughter Sharon, who was sleeping next to her. Sharon found the song on the phone and played it.
"Since then," she said, "I don't dream of Oded; I don't dream at all, neither dream nor cry. The springs have dried up."
We have been friends for close to 60 years, a bond that was born, like many friendships, in joint, long-standing reserve service, and flowed on, to all of our families, to Oded's journalistic work, to Yochka's photo exhibitions, to the public struggles they waged. On the morning of October 7, Oded and I corresponded, I was worried and he was calm. "Yochka is sleeping here in the MMD, everything is fine," he wrote. The correspondence was cut off mid-sentence.
Yochaved Lifshitz is an extraordinary woman: smart, sober, opinionated, brave, directs her gaze to her disaster, to our disaster, and refuses to blink. Every week she shows up at the demonstration, in Hatofim Square or in front of Begin Gate. "I owe it to the people," she says. Her four children are invested in the fight for the deal. Daniel, one of the grandsons, is also fully invested in the campaign. Traveling to meet with heads of state, collecting donations, being interviewed, speaking at demonstrations. She doesn't go abroad. "I don't feel like it," she told me. "I'm waiting for Oded to come back, no matter how he comes back."
She is proud of her public awareness, her positive influence on others. "I recently went to physiotherapy in Sheba," she said. "In front of me, in the corridor, a soldier walked. Even though he lost a leg, he made sure to walk without crutches. I told him, 'Well done to you.' He said, 'Wait, I recognize you: you were in Gaza. You know, you are a ray of light for us.'"
"A ray of light," she repeated.
Yochaved Lifshitz in the Ichilov Hospital, after she was released from Hamas captivity
She met Sinwar in the house where she was held in Gaza, and met Netanyahu in his office in Jerusalem. She left both meetings in a rage. "Every one of them is doing everything to keep their seat, and we're stuck in the middle," she said.
We met this week in the apartment she chose to live in, in the Affil retirement village. Tell me the story of that morning again, I asked.
"Ode woke me up," she said. "'Yochka,' he said, 'there is a war.' We heard voices in Arabic outside the house. 'There are terrorists here,' he said.
"Within a few minutes, people came in. Oded tried to close the door of the hospital. They shot, he was wounded in the hand and then they entered. 'Come on', they shouted at me, 'Come on'. I was in a nightgown. They took a rug over the couch, covered me, dragged me outside and put me on a moped. I lay between them like a sack of potatoes."
Oded was lying by the door of the house, passed out, bleeding profusely. Jochka was convinced that he had been killed.
"We arrived in Khirvat Ahzaa, the village closest to Nir Oz. We drove in front of a swarm of looters who were on their way to the kibbutz. When we passed them, they beat us, from everyone who came near."
They were your friends, I said. The ones you drove to hospitals.
"When they took me off the motorcycle, one came up and motioned to me, 'If you don't give me the ring and the watch, I'll cut off your hand'. I did.
"I was put on a car that circled the village until we reached a large hangar, under which a tunnel had been dug. More members of Nir Oz who had been kidnapped came out of all kinds of openings. We went down a slope, in the dark. One of the kidnappers gave the girl a flashlight to shine in front of us. I walked barefoot - the ground was very damp. Also The walls. One of the girls held my hand for a few kilometers until we got to a large room.
"When I was kidnapped, I said to myself, Yochka, you write a diary. You have to. I didn't have a pen and paper. I tried to remember things in my head, every detail."
Those were the good times, I said. Since then the situation has deteriorated.
"When the living conditions of the kidnappers are good, the conditions of the captives are also good, and vice versa," she said. "They took us to a tunnel that was a little wider than the tunnel where the six who were murdered not long ago were kept. There were seven of us and then five: Margalit Mozes, Amiram and Nurit Cooper, Avraham Munder and me (Margalit and Nurit were released; Amiram and Avraham were murdered). There were five mattresses, two armchairs And two ventilators. There was a toilet with running water. We got the right medicines in Israel. Every morning he sang to me.
Then Sinwar came to visit, I said.
"Several people entered the room," she said. "I didn't treat him at all. Sinwar spoke Hebrew, he said he studied in prison. I said to him, 'How can you treat us like that? After all, all these years we brought the people in Gaza to the hospitals.'
"'In a few days we will bring them all back,' he said."
And you're sick, I said.
"For four days I had diarrhea and vomited. A doctor came and gave me medicine. They didn't help. I think the doctor told them it was dangerous to leave me there, me and Norit Cooper, who had a broken shoulder. We should be released."
But you were not released, I said.
"Bibi didn't want us," she said. "Sharon Bati and Daniel Nachdi went to Qatar, to promote the release of the abductees. The Qataris claimed in their ears that Hamas was ready to release both of us; Israel refused. Hamas threatened to leave us at the border."
I find it hard to believe this story, I said. Why would Israel refuse?
"I have no explanation," she said. After 17 days she was released.
Oded was kidnapped in his underwear, when he was injured. The kidnappers dressed him in a robe. For 20 days he was imprisoned with Hana Katzir, also from Nir Oz, in a house in Khan Younis. Their paths did not meet. "Oded had a problem of fluctuating blood pressure, which caused him to pass out from time to time," Yochka said. "He felt unwell and asked for help. They took him, and since then we haven't heard anything about him. We don't know where they took him and what they did to him."
As far as I know, the IDF doesn't know either. The inquiries I made turned up nothing. There are only guesses, assumptions.
Their pain, my pain
Yuchka arrived from captivity in Ichilov by helicopter, thin by several kilograms, very tired, with alarmingly low blood pressure but full of vitality. we hugged The next morning, the hospital gathered journalists around it. What she said there upset many. They accused her of an explanatory attack, of treason.
Yochaved Lifshitz in the Ichilov Hospital, after she was released from Hamas captivity
Nahum Barnea and Yochka Lifshitz at the Ichilov Hospital, on the day of discharge( Photo: Jenny Yerushalmi, Ichilov Spokesperson )
"I didn't do the math," she said. "I told the truth to the truth. When I was in the Red Crescent ambulance, on the way out, the paramedic or the doctor who was there said to me, 'We are tired of fighting. Let the nations talk among themselves'. I shook his hand. Why don't I shake a hand that is extended to me in peace?"
Don't you regret it, I asked.
"I said mine," she said. "This is my truth and I will deal with it."
Are you post-traumatic, I asked.
"No," she stated. "Definitely not".
How do you know, I asked.
"A few days after I returned, Prof. Eric Shalu came to see me," she said. "He was the psychologist of a general patrol. 'I want to help you,' he said. A charming man. After he came back and checked me, he said, 'You don't have post-traumatic stress disorder.'"
But for a long time you refused to go to Nir Oz, I said. You chose to live in sheltered housing, far from the members of the kibbutz.
"When I was lying on the motorcycle, my face was facing Gaza," she said. "I didn't see Nir Oz on fire. I didn't want to go to the kibbutz because I wanted to keep Nir Oz in my memory as he was.
"After hearing the stories about what happened in the kibbutz on October 7, I said, 'I can't go there.' Nevertheless, I went to the funeral of Dolev Yehud, who was a member of our household. His body was discovered in June, near the kibbutz. His sister is still kidnapped. I visited It was the first and last time at my house that day."
I've been to your house twice, I said. The heart is broken.
"There is nothing left," she said. "Oded had an archive that was kept in large binders: every article he wrote, every document he collected. Everything was gone. Even photos. The thousands of photos I took were gone, also photos of my family from the 19th century. Two boxes full of film negatives were gone - film is an excellent burning material. We had a portable drive in which we burned. The only thing left was a CD player. Apparently the looters had no interest in it."
There was a piano in the house in Nir Oz. Encourage a lot to browse on. He was completely burned. In Yochka's small apartment in Afel, next to the CD player, there is now a new piano. He is waiting to be encouraged, for the day when he will return.
Evidence from the tunnel where the abductees stayed and were murdered Almog Sarosi Carmel Gat Hersh Goldberg Poland Alex Lobnov Eden Yerushalmi Uri Danino
"They took us to a tunnel that was a little wider than the tunnel where they kept the six who were murdered not long ago"( Photo: IDF spokesman )
Most of the members of the kibbutz now live in Keremi Gat, I said. You don't go there often.
"It's hard for me," she said. "It's hard for me to see the people. The buildings are tall: you go up and down in the elevator and meet everyone. So many widows, widowers, orphans. Their pain meets my pain. My friends understand that it's hard for me."
How has the community been functioning since then, I asked.
"Nir Oz is a bloody community," she said. "There are families who have lost relatives, there are families who have not lost, and there are families of abductees. Everyone's pain is different. And the children, now their pain is starting to come out."
In some settlements the destruction gave rise to internal struggles, I said.
"I decided I wasn't into it," she said.
Will you return to Nir Oz, I asked.
"We were told that it would take four to five years until the kibbutz was rebuilt. I will be over 90. If Oded returns, he will be close to 90. What will I do there? What will we do?
"Five girls from Nir Oz came to live in Afel. One of them is a grandmother whose two children were kidnapped; one murdered, one in captivity. She also says, what will I do there?"
He works on us
She accepted an invitation from the Prime Minister's Office to meet Netanyahu. "They invited five women who were released, and they have relatives who are still kidnapped," she said. "For me, this was the first and last meeting with Netanyahu."
Why, I asked.
She sighed. "I asked him if he knew how to read a map. 'Sure,' he said. 'Then how come you didn't get to Nir Oz until today?' I asked. 'You erased us from the map. When you presented a map of Gaza and the surrounding area, Nir Oz was not on it.'
"He didn't answer. He said, 'I know what it's like to be in captivity: I went through a series of captivity in a general patrol. I came back with scratches. I laughed - Arnon and Yezhar, my sons, also served in the Matkal patrol; they also went through a series of captivity and came back with scratches - it's not the same.
"After an hour, Sara Netanyahu entered the room. She began to tell us that she is a psychologist, who has a bachelor's and master's degree. 'I know Bibi,' she said. 'He is telling the truth - he really did not know' (about Hamas' intentions). They both recited a mantra - We didn't know. 'What deal are you talking about?' he asked angrily."
Netanyahu and Sinwar. "Each of them is doing everything to keep their seat, and we're stuck in the middle"( Photo: Yonatan Zindel, IDF spokesman )
How did you feel, I asked.
"I felt he was working on us," she said.
Your son Yazhar, who accompanied you, reacted differently, I said.
"He will be more careful than me," she said. "He believes that you should talk to everyone who has influence, with everyone who has a finger. My approach is different."
Don't you have second thoughts about Oded's and your many years of support for the Palestinian cause, I asked.
"No," she replied firmly. "I will explain: it is not possible for us to live forever on the sword. If we do, our fate will be like the fate of the Crusaders. We must reach an arrangement that will allow both sides to live. If we continue to settle the West Bank - perhaps Gaza as well - we will have no future.
"The time I was in captivity only strengthened my opinion. Before October 7, I told Oded, 'Look at their distress, over the fence. One day they will break through. There will be a catastrophe here.'"
What did Oded say, I asked.
"He said, 'You're right.' He said that when he was transporting patients from Gaza to hospitals in Israel, they told how miserable they were. Hamas is knocking them from one side; Israel is knocking them from the other."
to meet with life
Tonight (Tuesday) an exhibition in honor of Yochaved Lifshitz will open at the Land of Israel Museum (Moza) in Tel Aviv. The exhibition will feature black and white photos of her kept by her daughter Sharon and a video interview that Sharon conducted with her in a dark room. About ten years ago, Yochaka stopped taking pictures. She decided that the digital age doesn't suit her. "I don't like digital photography," she said. In digital, everyone thinks they are a photographer."
What will you do on October 7, I asked.
"I will go to Carmi Gat, to be with the community," she said. In the morning they will go to the cemetery in Nir Oz, to commune with the dead. I don't intend to go there. I will go to meet life."