Dear Ariel and Kfir,
I can't believe you didn't come back to us in the end. Since I wrote you my previous letter promising that upon your return I would transfer command of our group to you, I haven't stopped thinking about you.
Still, every morning, when I wake up and remove my blanket, I ask myself if you have blankets too. Are you cold? Is there heating in those tunnels where you are? And when I eat breakfast, I think about your food. I heard the hostages receive dry pitas and salty water. Is that true? Is that really what you eat and drink? Does your stomach still hurt from hunger?
The moment I think about this, my stomach starts hurting too. The group's children and I were sure you were coming back. Wow, how excited we were. We had already prepared special flags in redhead color – one flag for you, Ariel, and one for you, Kfir.
We recruited parents to drive us to the road where the car bringing you back would pass. In our imagination, we saw you looking at us through the car windows and recognizing us. We attached a long pole to each flag so we could wave them above the crowd's heads. We knew masses would come to welcome you, and we worried you wouldn't see the flags. All of Israel waited for you. Actually, the whole world waited for you. Your story was published everywhere. We were so excited.
Last night not only could I not fall asleep, the others couldn't either. You see, for over a year we've been practicing the commander handover ceremony, and we thought it was finally approaching. It was supposed to be a very special ceremony.
With the parents' help, we even sewed ranks. You, Ariel, were supposed to receive the rank of Super-Redhead and Kfir the rank of Deputy Super-Redhead. I was supposed to present you with the ranks.
And the rest would stand at attention and salute. You deserve everyone saluting you. My big brother, Yoram, offered to blow his trumpet. Dana Fishman's brother said he would bring a shofar. We think there aren't two redheaded brothers in the world who went through what you went through, and this honor is just a tiny bit of what we can give.
And suddenly this news. I really struggle to find words to describe what a shock we received. I'm sitting here with my friends at our meeting place. The flags are ironed. The ranks are ready. Yoram's trumpet lies on the table next to the shofar. And you're never coming back? Who is capable of hurting children? Surely this is a mistake?
I wait for you in tears, with all of Israel, and swear to remember you and think of you always.
Yours,
Gingi Shahar
Galila Ron-Feder-Amit, mother of the literary hero Gingi, bids farewell.
