Red hair in the wind: On the murder of Shiri Bibas and her babies

I keep seeing Shiri's red hair in my mind. Flowing in the wind as she holds Kfir, just nine months old, while Ariel, not yet five, clutches her hand. That's how they looked in the last photo before October 7th. Before Hamas tore them from their home in Nir Oz. Before they became symbols of unimaginable barbarity. Before we learned they would never come home.

How do we process this? How do we live in a world where a mother and her babies can be kidnapped, held for months, and then returned in coffins? How do we face the morning knowing that somewhere in Gaza, a nine-month-old baby drew his last breath far from his crib, his toys, his home?

The stages of grief don't come in neat packages anymore. They crash into each other like waves in a storm. Denial still whispers that maybe, just maybe, Hamas is lying. That somewhere, Shiri is still singing lullabies to Kfir, and Ariel is still asking for one more bedtime story. Anger burns so hot it threatens to consume everything in its path. Depression weighs like lead in the chest. Bargaining feels futile – what is there left to bargain for? Acceptance? How dare anyone suggest we should accept this?

We are told to be diplomatic. To be measured in our response. To consider the broader geopolitical implications. But I keep coming back to that red hair in the wind. To Ariel's smile in every photograph. To Kfir, who barely had time to learn to crawl.

The world will move on. There will be new headlines, new crises, new diplomatic initiatives. But we must never forget what happened here. A mother and her two small children were taken from their beds, held hostage for months, and killed. Their only crime was being Israeli. Their only sin was existing.

Some will say this is the price of conflict. That there are casualties on both sides. That we must look at the broader context. But there is no context that justifies the murder of a baby. There is no political cause that can sanctify the killing of a four-year-old. There is no higher purpose that can absolve the execution of a mother protecting her children.

The Bibas family has become a symbol, but they were not symbols. They were people.They had futures, dreams, possibilities – all erased in an act of unfathomable cruelty.

We are left with questions that have no answers. How did Kfir spend his last moments? Did Shiri manage to comfort her children at the end? Did Ariel understand what was happening? Will Yarden be ok. What a stupid, stupid question.

The red hair in the wind. The children's laughter. The future that was stolen. We owe it to them to remember. We owe it to them to say clearly: this was not war. This was not politics. This was evil in its purest form. And while we may be forced to live with it, we must never, ever accept it.

Tonight, somewhere in Israel, a crib stands empty. A child's bicycle gathers dust. And a family album full of red hair flowing in the wind becomes an testament to lives that should have been lived, birthdays that should have been celebrated, and a future that should have been.

For Shiri, Ariel, and Kfir Bibas – may their memories be a blessing, and may their deaths be a eternal reminder of what happens when the world watches evil and calls it politics.