10 | MARCH 14 • 2024 
J
N

essay

How to Pray for the Hostages
S

tart in the 
swimming pool.
Aim for the relative 
stillness in the late evening 
hours when the lanes are 
nearly empty and black skies 
seep through 
wall-length 
glass, the deeper 
end of quiet. As 
you break the 
water’s surface 
again and again, 
swimming 
freestyle, begin 
the incantation. Scan the 
dark with your goggled eyes 
as the whoosh of chlorinated 
water folds over you. Look 
for shadows. Talk to God:
Release the remaining 
hostages. All of them. If you 
must do it in stages, go ahead, 
though I don’t really understand 
why. The only humanitarian 
scale is freedom. Release red-
headed Kfir Bibas, who just 
turned 1, and his brother, 
Ariel Bibas, 4. They’re little. 
(Enunciate the word 
“little” 
with your BIG voice.) Captive 
children are an oxymoron. Kfir 
has spent more than 25% of 
his life in captivity! Release the 
younger and older, grandfathers, 
women, men, young adults; 
a crisscross of ethnicities, 
backgrounds, religions. It doesn’t 
matter who they are. They’re 
just people, born to be free. 
And give back the far-too-many 
bodies of those no longer with 
us. Let them come home to rest, 
finally.
Allow the blue-tiled water 
haven to have its say. Pooling 
emotion. Pools of prayer. 
Pooling our prayers.
Remind the captains of 

humanity, wherever and 
whomever they may be 
(those who have the ears of 
Hamas leaders, the United 
Nations, God) — of the 
celebrated chorus of the 
children’s song taught to 
you in nursery school at the 
Jewish Community Center 
in Oak Park. The song 
about entreaties to Pharaoh 
that you sang off-key when 
you were 4, the same age 
as kidnapped Ariel: Let my 
people go. Belt out the four-
word refrain in staccato in 
case God or anyone else 
forgot about Pharaoh and his 
hardened heart. Thunder if 
you have to.
Explain that the use of 

“people” in your song doesn’t 
only refer to Israeli people. 

It means all people. All the 
nationalities from all the 
countries who’ve lost their 
freedom, been abducted. 
Stolen is the word Rachel 
Goldberg uses to describe 
the seizing of her son, Hersh 
Goldberg-Polin, 23. Stolen 
from humanity, from their 
families, from the world, 
from themselves. Pray to free 
innocent Gazans who have 
also been held hostage by 
this war.
Pray for softened hearts. 
Big hearts. Healing hearts. 
Hearts not too tarnished by 
captivity. Heartened, not 
hardened. In the crook of 
my heart, I pray for us to 
not be held hostage by our 
fears, hates and wants. Fists 
unfisted. For the hostages to 

not be held hostage by what 
they’ve been through. Hearts 
unhardened. 
Tell God that you can no 
longer do Happy Baby Pose 
in your yoga class because 
how can you model a happy 
baby when carrot-topped, 
cooing Kfir was abducted? 
What does the Higher Power 
think about the many carrot 
cakes folks baked for Kfir’s 
first birthday? Celebrating 
one year in the world, in 
absentia. 

TIME TO PRAY
Pray wherever, whenever, 
whatever you can. Pray when 
you walk the dog. Pray when 
you clack-clack on your com-
puter keyboard or scratch 
a pen across a page. Pray as 
birds chirping turns into bird-
song. Pray when you brush, 
floss and rinse your teeth. 
Pray when you zip on your 
warm waterproof winter coat. 
Pray as you wrap your fin-
gers around the ever-present 
silver dog tag necklace you 
and umpteen others don daily 
etched with 
“Our heart is held 
captive in Gaza — Bring them 
home now!”
Prayers need somewhere 
to go. Have faith that 
Someone will receive them, 
and Somewhere they’ll 
be received. If you don’t 
believe in a heavenly force, 
meditate to and conjure your 
restorative heavenly place. 
Wondrous places can receive 
our prayers. Spectacular 
glaciers, soothing waterfalls, 
jagged desert peaks. Verdant 
hills. Shimmering lakes, lush 
gardens, untouched snowy 

Ruth 
Ebenstein

PURELY COMMENTARY

A dog tag 
showing 
support for 
the hostages

