Lt. Gabriel Shnaider
Boguer Magshim, Hanoar Hatzioni B’Perú
October 15, 2025
The festival of Sukkot is known as the time of our joy. That emotion stems from the confidence of having passed the judgment of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur favorably, and from gratitude for the blessings we have and recognize with humility.
Yet, in the past two years, it has been very difficult to feel joy.
Since that October 7th, when we experienced the greatest attack since the independence of the State, and the cruelest day for the Jewish people since the Shoah. The sense of vulnerability and chaos has swept across the entire country, and ever since, we have lived in a different reality. Living in a nation at war means constant stress and adrenaline, uncertainty about when the next alarm will sound, when a sudden operation might change all plans, or when a notification will announce another fallen soldier.
Above all, there has been an insatiable yearning and terrible frustration in knowing that Israeli citizens were kidnapped and held in captivity, enduring constant suffering. The memory, the longing, and the hope of once again seeing families reunited in embraces remained constant, resilient, and fundamental to our struggle as a society and as educators.
Eli Sharavi, who was held hostage for 491 days, wrote in his testimonial book:
“Hope is not something that comes easily. Hope is something one must fight for, work on.”
But how does one fight for hope? How does one work on it?
I first asked myself these questions from a professional standpoint: how to continue with the tojnit jinuj (educational program) in the army. We understood that our soldiers need to believe, with conviction, in the righteousness of our path; to trust that our struggle is not in vain; and to know that in our heroism and commitment lies the power to restore silence and peace to society.
To hold fast to the national ideal: the right to be a free people in our own land. To be the actors who turn the dream into reality.
That was how I personally managed to keep my hope alive for two years, by caring for my tzevet and the impact we make. The message, I believe, can easily be extended to broader social circles in Israel.
Yet I had the privilege of taking part in the fifth MIC and the Veida Jinuchit, which took place during this year’s Sukkot. The audience there was different, and therefore, the educational approach had to match their reality to be truly effective.
We began from the understanding that outside of Israel, young Jews often strengthen their identity as a reaction to the hatred around them. The greater the antisemitism and threat, the greater the strength required to face it.
In such a context, two paths emerge: either a Jewish identity shaped by pain and hostility, or the abandonment of belonging to a people seen as hated and unfree. One of our main goals was to allow for an experience of Jewish expression that is free, joyful, and proud.
On Friday night, we all entered under the Sukkah. It was deeply moving for me to see that those who had once been my janichim in Shnat are now madrichim in the same program, and together with their own janichim, we sang the same songs that had united us as a family throughout these years of war: songs of peace and courage.
With news of a possible agreement already circulating, we sang Shalom Aleichem, not only to welcome the angels of Shabbat, but also as a deep and desperate wish to welcome home the captives we so dearly miss.
After dinner, we broke into small groups to discuss the elements that make up each person’s Jewish identity, how these values shape their lives, and what meaning they hold for each of us.
At the end of Shabbat, we joined the chain of generations of Am Israel.
After recalling how past generations dreamed of Jerusalem, how they ascended to her singing with hope and joy: from Avraham Avinu, David HaMelech, Ezra and Nehemiah, to the fighters of the Six-Day War and the Aliyot from Ethiopia — now it was our turn.
We too made Alia laReguel, and accompanied by shofarot, trumpets, and drums, we ascended and sang before the Kotel, the symbol of our eternal hope and connection to this land and its people. Those were moments of profound emotion.
After endless dancing, the educational leadership from across the world sang out our anthem:
“עוד לא אבדה תקוותנו – להיות עם חופשי בארצנו”
“Our hope is not yet lost – to be a free people in our land.”
With that beautiful feeling, after just a few hours of sleep and immense excitement, we stood the next day before Meguilot haEsh, remembering that our history as a people is one of downs and ups, of crises and of redemption.
This is how we work and fight for our hope:
by connecting past, present, and future;
by connecting the individual with the land and the people;
by connecting body, heart, and soul;
by doing, living, learning, and dreaming.
Personally, I feel that this was my best preparation for the prophecy that became reality the very next day:
“וַיַּעֲשׂוּ כָל-הַקָּהָל הַשָּׁבִים מִן-הַשְּׁבִי סֻכּוֹת… וַתְּהִי שִׂמְחָה גְּדוֹלָה מְאֹד.”
“And all the congregation who had returned from captivity made sukkot and dwelled in them… and there was great joy.”
Joy, relief, the sense of a massive weight lifted off our hearts. An inexplicable euphoria: tears of joy as the news arrived, psalms of gratitude were recited, lulavim were waved, and dances and embraces of the soul burst forth. Am Israel finally celebrated the time of our joy in a genuine, powerful, and deeply emotional way.
It was a very special day for Am Israel. In recent years, we have been deeply divided, so many debates and conflicts separating us. After October 7th, we were briefly united in the face of threat but it did not last. This time, we were united for joy, and in joy.
I warmly welcome those who have returned. There are no words to describe how much we missed you, and the happiness we all feel seeing you embrace your families again. Thank you for your strength of body and courage of heart, for not giving up, for not surrendering, for believing and holding fast to the hope that this day would come. And forgive us that it took so long.
It is not over yet. We still await the return of all those murdered in captivity, to be brought to a dignified burial in Israel. We will continue to fight and to educate until the mission is complete, until peace and flourishing are secured for Israel.
Chaverim and Chaverot of the world,
During the Veida Chinuchit, I understood that our hope is not only Israeli, it is a network that unites chaverim and chaverot in every ken around the globe. For a hundred years, thousands of young people have educated, sung, and dreamed with the same values that sustain us here. That global connection of Hanoar Hatzioni: Human, Jewish, Zionist, and Chalutzian. Is a source of strength in times of darkness. When one of us sings Od lo avda tikvatenu, we sing it for all.
Israel is the national home of the Jewish people. I invite you always to connect with what happens here through joy and pride. Fight with us so that our hope is never lost. We are a beautiful country — and we will remain so, even more than before.
