Today is Mother’s Day. Around the world, children shower their mothers with flowers, cards, and celebrate cherished moments. But for me — and for the other mothers of the 59 hostages still held in Gaza — this day marks 582 days of a living nightmare that began on October 7.
I am the mother of Yonatan Samerano, a hostage. For us, time froze on October 7. For 582 days, every moment has been a blur of uncertainty, fear, and heartbreak. Every night, as parents tuck their children into bed, I lie awake, silently screaming into my pillow so I don’t wake anyone else. The weight on my chest never lifts.
Yonatan is a regular at the Nova music festival. He is vibrant, creative, full of life — “one big party,” as everyone who knows him would say. He fills every room with joy and helps countless artists in Tel Aviv’s music scene find their voice. His energy is magnetic, his spirit generous. He believes in people, in art, in freedom.
That morning at 6:29 a.m., when the rockets and sirens began, he and his friends jumped into their car to hurry home to safety. They were among the first to leave the festival grounds. A police officer directed them toward shelter in Kibbutz Be’eri, unaware they were driving straight into danger. Terrorists opened fire on their car and looters later dragged them from their vehicle.
A white Jeep then pulled up and two terrorists emerged from the vehicle. They picked up my wounded son from the pavement and placed him in the back of the Jeep, leaving his friends lifeless on the sidewalk.
The horror didn’t end with his capture. We were later forced to watch video footage of his capture. The video revealed that the man driving the Jeep was a social worker from UNRWA — an organization meant to provide humanitarian aid. He dragged my wounded son across the ground and threw him into a UN vehicle.
That’s how Yonatan was kidnapped and taken into Gaza.
I write this not just as a grieving mother, but as a witness to this unconscionable act. While others have received definitive news about their loved ones, we live in this cruel limbo — my son, shot and taken, is still in Gaza.
Every mother understands the fierceness of maternal love — but no mother should understand this pain. I wouldn’t wish even a single day of this uncertainty on any mother, anywhere. Each minute feels like an eternity.
Some mothers count the minutes until they’ll see their child again. I count minutes wondering if I’ll receive even the faintest sign that my son is still alive. Where is he? How are they treating him? Have they abandoned him? What has become of him? What remains of the beautiful soul I raised?
And yet the day passes, night falls again, and the cycle repeats — 582 days without a smile, without laughter, without any sense of life.
GEOFFROY VAN DER HASSELT/AFP via Getty Images
The hostage release deal in February of this year brought miraculous reunions for some families. I’ve watched mothers embrace their children after months of captivity, their faces transformed by joy. I replay those images in my mind, visualizing that moment with Yonatan to keep myself going.
Some parents of the 59 hostages still held by Hamas have succumbed to despair, seeing only darkness. I remind myself that hope is my greatest strength. It allows me to see possibilities where others cannot. Perhaps I’m not being realistic, but this hope sustains me and gives me the courage to face each day amid this chaos.
Hope is what propels me forward each morning. Yonatan gives me strength each day. He is my son, the most precious thing in my world, and I cannot surrender. I must rise, act, fight, and struggle — constantly thinking of new ideas that might help bring him home.
The last time I spoke with my son was the evening before October 7, when I dropped him off to meet his friends for the festival. That morning, when the first siren sounded, I tried desperately to reach him, but he didn’t answer.
Since then, we’ve experienced immense grief and longing. No words can express our feelings given the terrible uncertainty about our son’s condition. Our hearts break anew each day.
President Trump has made remarkable progress in bringing many hostages home. I urge him: Don’t stop — continue to do whatever is necessary to bring every last one home. The hostages have little time left to spare.
To mothers celebrating today with your children — treasure every moment. Hold them closer. Memorize the sound of their laughter. These are luxuries I dream of experiencing again.
And to my fellow mothers of hostages — I stand with you in our impossible vigil. We will continue to fight, to hope, to believe that our children will return.
Mother’s Day will truly arrive when we can hold our children again. Until then, we remain mothers in waiting, our hearts simultaneously broken, yet full of an unbreakable hope.
I carry Yonatan with me every moment — his endless magic, his beautiful spirit, his love of life. And I carry the hope that one day soon, all 59 hostages will return to their families’ arms. That would be the greatest Mother’s Day gift of all.
* * *
Ayelet Samerano is the mother of Yonatan Samerano who was kidnapped and taken to Gaza by Hamas in an UNRWA vehicle on October 7, 2023.
