JNS
Meirav, the mother of Israeli hostage Romi Gonen, shares the journey leading up to her daughter's release from Hamas captivity and what she had to endure.
I first met Meirav Leshem-Gonen on Oct. 8, 2023, during the initial press conference held one day after Hamas's Oct. 7 attack. Chaos reigned—crying, screams of anguish, helplessness. Government officials were notably absent.
Even then, five parents took the initiative, sitting before the cameras demanding answers and clarity. Among them was Meirav Leshem-Gonen, whose daughter Romi Gonen, then 23 years old, was taken hostage from the Supernova music festival while wounded, after all others in her vehicle were killed.
After 471 days of relentless struggle, the first phase of the deal brought Romi Gonen back to her family's arms—the family that had fought for her with all their might. Fifteen months later, our paths crossed again, this time to discuss her daughter's release and the ongoing process of recovery.
Q: "Did you believe then, on that cursed Sunday, that it would take so long?" I ask.
A: "Not at all," Meirav responded. "I was certain it would end within a week or two. Who could have imagined we would go through this hell, this nightmare?"
Q: Looking back today, would you have acted differently? Is there anything you regret?
A: "Could you have acted differently?" Leshem-Gonen wondered. "In this new and threatening situation forced upon us, could we know exactly what was right to do and how to act? Is there even a guidebook for a chaotic situation we've never been in before? The situation was completely new to us—we had to learn and adapt as events unfolded. While at the beginning I was doing what was suggested without questioning it, slowly I became more analytical, and my actions changed according to what I thought and believed was right."
Leshem-Gonen points to August 2024 as a pivotal month in her approach to public advocacy for Romi's return home.
"I felt I was in a bad place. My partner helped me see that my approach to securing Romi's release needed to change. My daughter Yarden and those closest to me shared this feeling. Then I understood what needed to be done to bring Romi back was to reunite parts of the Israeli people and heal them, because there's very deep healing we need to undergo. I simply started listening to the Israeli people.
"We filled auditoriums. We went out almost every evening, five evenings a week, sometimes every morning too, from north to south, from Judea and Samaria to remote communities, meeting people from all parts of society. Religious, traditional, secular, ultra-Orthodox. I met over 30,000 people in more than 140 communities across the country—people who seemed entirely different from us.
"And we focused on bridging the divides within our society. We focused on both listening and letting them ask questions. And we met amazing people with different perspectives.
"During these 15 months, I gained an entirely new understanding of Israeli society," Leshem-Gonen explained. "I encountered communities and perspectives I'd never known before. This included visiting areas others might avoid, all with the recognition that true national healing requires understanding every segment of our society.
"I was deeply interested in what people think, feel, and what questions arise for them. Through these questions, I understood the gap in perception of reality—how people view the reality I live in. I don't know the reality they live in, and amazing connections were formed.
"Perhaps this received less media coverage because the media usually prefers what creates headlines and generates interest. But most people want what connects and unifies us. Perhaps if we had approached our differences with less fear and defensiveness, we would have found a better path forward."
When asked about lessons learned, Leshem-Gonen responded, "I think we can learn a lesson from this for the future. The main lesson is the importance of togetherness, and recognizing differences. It's very difficult to build togetherness during war. But we did it. Our soldiers on the ground did it. They didn't care about political divisions. They rushed into battle to save the Israeli people and rescue hostages.
"I think if there hadn't been such division between us as brothers, perhaps Oct. 7 might not have happened. We as the Israeli people have a responsibility to ensure the gates of hell never open again, and to work toward reopening the gates of paradise to the world. We have a national responsibility. I plan, of course, to continue taking part in the families' struggle until the last hostage returns."
Q: You need to take on a leadership position, Meirav.
A: "I won't enter politics," she said. "In my view, politics is a profession. The terrible disaster that happened to me doesn't mean I can suddenly be a good politician. But I commit to public service. That's my biggest lesson from Oct. 7 and the journey we've been through."
Despite inspiring stories of heroism published about returned hostages, Leshem-Gonen emphasized that daily reality in captivity was harsh, evil and cruel.
"While they returned standing on their feet and looking generally OK, Romi returned 22 pounds lighter. That's a lot. Their bodies were severely depleted of electrolytes, minerals and essential vitamins," Leshem-Gonen said. "This deficiency could lead to life-threatening conditions, including heart rhythm disorders. Romi was in constant, daily mortal danger. This wasn't like a prisoner in a prison with rules. She was under daily threat of death. If one of her captors went crazy or had a breakdown, they could have taken her life, God forbid.
"She wasn't properly treated in captivity. No painkillers. No surgery. Nothing. Her right hand, which was shot, is paralyzed and she'll need complex surgery and months of rehabilitation. Not only did they not treat her, but while she tried to treat herself, the terrorists who constantly surrounded her didn't care for her and even mocked her condition. She received inadequate nutrition. This is before we even discuss psychological rehabilitation.
"Romi knew we were a strong family and that we would fight for her, yet there were moments she thought she would never get out. She learned Arabic to survive—an almost impossible task for a Jewish woman. To survive in these conditions, among a hostile population."
Leshem-Gonen shared what sustained Romi's hope during captivity:
"She had very limited exposure to media in captivity, but from the little she saw, it greatly strengthened her to see the hostage pins, the photos of hostages held high, and the demonstrations that were held for them. It gave her the feeling that people were fighting for her, that she was seen."
Q: Can we say you're finally breathing again?
A: "I breathed before too. But before, I sometimes had to remind myself to breathe. Today it's a bit easier," Leshem-Gonen reflected. "Throughout the difficult journey we went through, I said it's good that breathing is automatic, and we don't need to think about this action each time anew. Because I might have struggled with it.
"There's a bit more ease now. Ultimately, the experience of having my child in constant mortal danger—life-threatening, mortal danger—is something that grips your throat. The weight of it is crushing."
Q: Has Romi been able to meet with the families of those who were murdered in the vehicle she was in before she was kidnapped?
A: "She's meeting them gradually, at her own pace," she explained. "Credit should be given to these families who aren't pressuring her, despite waiting 15 months to understand what happened to their loved ones in their final moments. They're giving her time. And that deserves great appreciation."
Originally published by Israel Hayom.
