All the speculation about hostage swaps and possible ceasefire eludes Yechi Yehud.
Since October 7 when Hamas snatched his son Dolev, 35, and 28-year-old daughter Arbel, marketing manager Yechi, 64, has not watched a single TV news bulletin nor read a newspaper or sought information about the war from social media.
Existing in a protective cocoon, he refuses to allow his hopes to rise with every promising lead only to be cruelly extinguished.
Instead he waits for briefing visits from the Israeli army officers assigned to his family. Not that they were able to tell him much. Until two weeks ago they came to his home daily. ‘Right at the start I asked them to come so that I could see their faces and their body language,’ says Yechi. ‘Now there is not so much they can say, so they come just twice a week.’
He dreads waking up and the days stretch interminably. But on he goes, refusing to give up hope. He arranges meeting after meeting with politicians and anyone else he thinks might help, though he concedes there is no way of knowing if anything he does makes the slightest difference. Still, he tries. ‘What else can I do? That’s how I fill the days,’ he says.
Yechi Yehud, 64 and Yael Yehud, 57, the parents of brother and sister Dolev Yehud, 35, and Arbel Yehud, 28, who were snatched by Hamas on October 7
Dolev Yehud with his daughter Raz, aged 8. Existing in a protective cocoon, Dolev’s father Yechi refuses to allow his hopes to rise with every promising lead only to be cruelly extinguished
Dolev with his daughter Raz. Commenting on his fears over his son being held in captivity, Yechi said: ‘He has a thyroid problem and needs daily medicine which he hasn’t been getting’
His wife Yael, 57, is ‘so broken’ that she is barely able to talk about what happened. Work offers scant respite. She is an artist and shows us filigree flowers she made and glass grapes which hang from a tree in the couple’s secluded garden at their home south of Tel Aviv. Does it help take her mind off it? ‘A little but not for long,’ she shrugs, falling silent.
Suddenly she says: ‘I just keep imagining them walking through the door…’ Her words trail away.
Her husband reappears with coffee and pastries, which he carefully arranges on a plate. Somehow even this mundane act seems sorrowful. From her mobile phone, Yael, composing herself, shows us a clip of one of their granddaughters, Raz, aged eight.
Along with the children of other hostages, Raz was at a special concert by an Israeli pop star. Holding placards bearing the faces of their missing parents, the children sway numbly to the music.
But it is to Raz, wearing a red T-shirt, that the eye is drawn. She holds her father Dolev’s picture above her head, her arms outstretched to their furthest limit. She is sobbing. Seeing her distress, an older boy, no more than 13 and no doubt harbouring his own pain, puts his arm around her shoulder. Sadness is never far away in this land – at this time – but Raz’s video delivers a rare emotional punch.
Dolev, a medic, was taken hostage from Kibbutz Nir Oz on when Hamas terrorists launched their attack, killing and kidnapping a quarter of the kibbutz residents.
His wife Sigi, heavily pregnant at the time, hid all day long with their three children in their safe room, and were evacuated late afternoon. She has not seen her husband since and talks now of missing half of her life. She gave birth on October 16.
Dolev’s sister Arbel, a guide at a space and technology centre, was taken around the same time. ‘We worry so much about Arbel. She is a sensitive woman and we worry about her being with these men, terrorists,’ says Yechi. ‘We worry about sexual abuse. Then there is the fear of what state Dolev might be in. He has a thyroid problem and needs daily medicine which he hasn’t been getting.’
The Yehuds are joined by another couple, Luis and Silvia Cunio. Two of their grown up children – David, 34, and Ariel, 26 – are missing too, snatched from the same kibbutz. Ariel is engaged to Arbel and ‘were planning their future together when they were taken’ says Silvia.
Raz holds a picture of her father Dolev Yehud, who was taken hostage on October 7. She was at a special concert by an Israeli pop star. Holding placards bearing the faces of their missing parents, the children swayed numbly to the music
Luis Cunio, 64, Silvia Cunio, 63, Yechi Yehud, 64 and Yael Yehud, 57. Yechi and Yael are the parents of brother and sister Dolev Yehud, 35, and Arbei Yehud, 28, who were snatched by Hamas on October 7
Yechi holding up a hostage poster in his home. He said he not watched a single TV news bulletin nor read a newspaper or sought information about the war from social media
Yechi speaks emotionally about the ordeal. He said he waits for briefing visits from the Israeli army officers assigned to his family
Dolev with his daughter Raz. Dolev, a medic, was taken hostage from Kibbutz Nir Oz on when Hamas terrorists launched their attack, killing and kidnapping a quarter of the kibbutz residents
Dolev with his daughter Raz. Dolev’s mother, Yael, is ‘so broken’ that she is barely able to talk about what happened
Raz holds up a picture of her father Dolev and Arbel. On October 7, Dolev’s wife Sigi, heavily pregnant at the time, hid all day long with their three children in their safe room, and were evacuated late afternoon
‘We have known each other for years and years and we are very close. So for each of us it’s as though four of our children have been taken from us.’
All worry about the ‘psychological effects’ on the grandchildren. Yechi talks of seeing another granddaughter, four-year-old Ron, running towards him wearing a T-shirt with her father’s face and the now ubiquitous demand: ‘Bring them home now’.
He says: ‘She cried out, ‘Hello grandpa’. I was so overwhelmed.
‘When I saw her wearing this T-shirt – a silent scream to release her father and aunt – I collapsed with the sadness of it all. Now I take these T-shirts to every minister I meet and get them to hang it in their office as a reminder ever morning to remember the silent scream of Ron to release her father.
‘The rest of us never give up hope. We have to believe that they are coming home to us soon to us. Without this faith we couldn’t sit here and talk to you now. It keeps us alive and focused.’
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