Dear Liri

You do not know me, but I know you.
Your faith is now my faith.
Saturday, October 7.
My Instagram filled with pictures of you.
Captions – Bring Liri Home.
I made a connection.
You had been an Israeli camper at the Jewish Summer Camp I worked at two years prior.
Our paths never crossed.
While you were held hostage, there was never a time when I did not think of you.

Every breath of fresh air I inhaled, you inhaled with me.
A closeness was felt from me to you.
I created a story in my head.
We were friends.
My friend was taken by Hamas.
Knowing there was another girl my age, who loved Summer Camp.
Her freedom taken away.
I needed to stay strong for the both of us.

Your strength got me through the saddest and the hardest times.
An anti-Semitic and anti-Zionist Australia.
Jewish sites were firebombed.
Walls were vandalised.
Swastikas were the norm.
Explosives were found.
Jews were assaulted.
I was not okay.
Nobody was okay.
I am not okay.
Nobody is okay.

But I moved forward.
The Shabbat prior to Rosh Hashanah last year.
A very special one.
An evening of prayer, connection and hope.
Shabbat candles were lit.
Blessings were made.
I talked about you
About our friendship.
Your photo stood next to my candles lit in your honour.
You were with us on that Shabbat.
We prayed for your immediate release.

I feel most connected to you when I am alone.
Eyes closed. Shema recited.
You have taught me what it really means to live.
To be present. To take nothing for granted.
Saturday, January 25.
I cried. Happy tears.
Again my Instagram filled with pictures of you.
No longer Bring Liri Home.
My friend was home.
Images showing your determination.
Your smile. Your strength.
I knew you had felt our prayers that Shabbat.