Hostages
Within days of October 7, 2023, the families of at least 341 missing Israelis, some kidnapped to Gaza and others whose fates remain unknown, began demanding the return of their loved ones. Among the missing were seniors, fathers, mothers, young adults, children, and even a baby under one year old. These families came from diverse political and socio-economic backgrounds, united only by the shared tragedy that brought them together.
Determined to make their voices heard, they took to the streets, and within a day, thousands of protesters had joined them. What began as a small movement quickly grew into a social phenomenon, where strangers across the nation felt as if their own family members had been kidnapped. They demonstrate daily, in the rain and under the hot sun, for almost a year now, and they have sworn to continue until the last hostage is back home.
I’ve been a street and documentary photographer for over 25 years, fortunate enough to travel and photograph in many countries and societies. But capturing the recent events in my own country is not just another project for me. It’s the documentation of a pivotal moment, a time when an entire nation is undergoing a profound transformation that impacts millions of lives, now and for years to come.
Photographers often debate the differences between street and documentary photography. The images I’ve been capturing over the past year clearly fall into the documentary category. This has become a personal mission for me. I feel a deep responsibility to document these historical events. That’s why I resigned from my job, put aside my “normal life,” and now spend most of my time on the streets, always close to the next potential frame.
There’s also ongoing discussion about whether a street or documentary photographer should remain an observer, capturing moments from a distance, or become personally and emotionally involved in the events they document. For me, the line between these two approaches isn’t clear-cut. A photographer must understand the context and know the subjects they are capturing. Without that, the images may lack depth and fail to tell the full story, which is, for me, the goal of a documentary picture.
During these 14 months, I’ve come to know dozens of new people, all of them involved in some way or another in this social phenomenon. They are like my new family. Most important are the hostage’s family members. I talk to them almost every day. I know their personalities, occupations, families, hobbies, and what they like and dislike in life. I have their trust, which allows me better proximity to events like those seen in the picture “Helplessness.” Then there are the people who demonstrate daily. Many of them devote their full time to this cause. I’ve also gotten to personally know the policemen assigned to these events. Even if a demonstration turns a bit violent, they let me take pictures close to them, as seen in the picture “The chief of police”. I’ve made friends with photographers and reporters from the media and TV channels. Since I have good information sources, they call me sometimes to check if there’s a special demonstration, like blocking main roads or lighting a fire. I hang out with them to offer my pictures for publication on various media channels, all to keep the hostages’ story in the headlines.
There are no “good” stories here. I shot thousands of photos during these 14 months. Not even one shows someone smiling. There is a lot of sadness, frustration, fear, anger, and helplessness. Putting aside the tragedy for a moment, from a photographic point of view, it’s a fruitful ground for capturing these emotions. In the picture “Granddaughter Grief,” you can see Talia, the granddaughter of Alex Dancyg (76), who was kidnapped on October 7 and later murdered in captivity. She joined the demonstrators a few days after his body was brought back in a military operation. That day, she led the march, shouting and crying her heart out. Talia and her two sisters continue to demonstrate, feeling they cannot rest until all hostages are back.
The footage of Noa Argamani, who was abducted from the Nova music festival, became a symbol of the hostage crisis and led to Argamani being described as "the face of the Nova music festival hostages.” She was released in a military operation on June 8 after eight months in captivity. Noa was the only daughter of Liora, who was suffering from late-stage brain cancer and made a public plea to see her daughter one last time. Although her physical condition deteriorated dramatically, she appeared in many demonstrations and public events for the return of the hostages. I took the picture “Still Waiting” on May 14, two weeks before Noa was released. Liora appears as if she is waiting for someone to sit next to her. The sign on the chair says “Saved” and remained empty that evening. Liora passed away six weeks later.
The Bibas family"Yarden, Shiri, Ariel (5), and baby boy Kfir (1)"were kidnapped on October 7. Jimmy Miller, Shiri’s cousin, organized Kfir’s first-year birthday event, which was named “The Saddest Birthday in the World.” Recently, he organized a similar event for Ariel’s fifth birthday. After the kidnapping, Jimmy found a picture of Kfir where he says he wants to be Batman and “fly to save people stuck in a deep pit.” If Kfir is still alive, he is likely held today in a deep tunnel.
It took me a few days to write what you just read. During this time, six hostages were announced dead. As I’m writing these lines, 98 hostages are still being held. Today marks 470 days since October 7, and I’m getting up again to take pictures, hoping to keep the story of the hostages in the headlines. I plan to continue until the last hostage is back home, dead or alive. A friend asked me if I miss photographing flowers and nature. Even if that day comes, my pictures will never be the same.
