Until the last hostage” was the anthem of these past 843 days when 251 people, mostly Israeli Jews, were kidnapped by Hamas into captivity in Gaza.
The looping yellow ribbon dedicated to mindfulness of the hostages’ wrenching plight was everywhere.
From time to time, I shaped and looped my Shabbat challah into this sign, as they graced my Shabbat table with a tangible kind of presence and reminder.
Each in our own way, we all prayed and expressed desperate hope for the hostages’ return. Some felt it ought to be achieved with diplomacy; others, through military strength.
Navigating such a complex and staggeringly wrenching saga frighteningly meant not knowing what the future cost for ending this war would be.
Yesterday, though, these looped yellow ribbons were finally removed from door knobs, along with the signature necklaces of the yellow loop, and the ubiquitous tiny yellow loop of a pin, that graced countless garments — including my dad’s daily worn sports jacket.
“Until the last hostage”. It became our mantra. It became the breath we breathed.
The war had essentially ended. All the hostages were returned — but one.
Ran ben Talik.
Master Seargant Ran Gvili.
It felt like this recent Chanukah in Jerusalem was dedicated to the prayer for Ran’s return.
Ran, who as a young kid was so sensitive and compassionate that when it came to his attention that two of his peers were celebrating their Bar Mitzvah on the very same day, he made it his business to guarantee that the celebration of the less social of the two kids would be filled to the brim with guests.
When Ran, 24-year-old Ran, who at 6:30 a.m. on Oct. 7, unbidden, began to leave for the Israel’s South to fight for the safety of Israel,his dad turned to him:”But your broken shoulder that you are recovering from? How will you carry all the heavy military equipment?”
“My comrades are gonna rise to fight and protect us and I’m just gonna abandon them and stay behind because of a broken shoulder? I’ll manage.”
Ran, who just a short time later, now alone, at Kibbutz Alumim, even after his body was ridden with bullets, confronted and continued fighting off Hamas terrorists.
Tragically, over 20 farm workers from Thailand were killed at Kibbutz Alumim. No kibbutz members were killed. Kibbutz Alumim was saved. Because of Ran’s heroism. Because of others’ heroism.
Ran went missing. In January, 2024, he was confirmed dead. Murdered. His body kidnapped to Gaza.
His name then joined the other hostages we were praying for.
Their names, one by one, on our lips. In our hearts. As we oscillated between bellowing their precious names to crying them out into the night or whispering and murmuring them to ourselves.
Ran’s name was the last name we whispered.
Ran, whose two-letter name in Hebrew is a palindrome of the Hebrew word for candle. R(a)n. N(e)r.
This past Chanukah, it felt like each candlelighting was for Ran’s return, as though an entire nation raised our lit candles, our burning flames, for him.
On day 798, I watched as Ran’s father spoke of Jacob our forefather experiencing inconsolable grief as long as he could not confirm his beloved son Joseph’s death.
“I am Jacob,” Ran’s father said, before cementing his message of unity for the nation of Israel, and blessing the Friday night kiddush wine, the goblet adorned with a yellow ribbon.
Yesterday, after 843 interminable days, Ran’s body returned to Israel, returned home, for Jewish burial.
In this week’s Torah portion, the bones of Joseph are brought along with the nation of Israel’s Exodus from Egypt, to be buried in the land of Israel.
Like the Torah’s recording of Joseph being brought to burial in Israel, this moment of Jewish history, when Ran Gvili’s body has returned to be buried in the land of Israel, will forever be carved in Jewish history.
He is the last one.
The closing of the circle, so to speak, of this excruciating, terrifying, profoundly traumatic chapter.
Yes, Ran returned. It is nothing short of a miracle from Above thanks to the heroic IDF soldiers. It was not at all to be taken for granted. Would Israel need to learn to live with the tormenting uncertainty, with the seeping wound of more than one Ron Arad, the IDF soldier who was never found or returned?
The gratitude for return to Jewish burial and the beginning of healing it can bring is deeply meaningful.
Yet we grieve this kind of return. For Ran. And for the 46 other hostages who returned to be buried.
Granted, Ran and the 46 others, returned amidst tears of sadness for their loss. They’ve returned amidst blood, amidst agonizing pain.
But they’ve returned. Every single one, now.
A true miracle of our time.
Upon Ran’s return, the uniformed soldiers of the platoon that returned Ran’s body,enveloped him with the singing of “Ani Ma’amin. I Believe.”
They worked valiantly, literally no stone unturned, to find Ran Gvili, as we learn more of the astonishing details of “Operation Brave Heart.”
When the IDF soldiers were searching for the body of Ran Gvili, they were through grave after grave in the cemetery in Jabalya, creating decoy after decoy so as to have the time to keep searching.
In the end, Ran, his body and police uniform unaffected by time, was identified, wrapped in a “Shifa Hospital” body bag.
There it was, down to the last hostage.
Lifeless.
Yet, Ran Gvili, in his death, literally with his very body, was still nurturing Israel linchpin intel to assure Israel’s security.
The truth is, we will never stop whispering the hostages’ names whose return was for burial.
The pain is great.
As is their legacy.
Ran — or Rani as he was affectionately referred to — will be part of Israel’s eternal memory.
We always said, “until the last one.”
And Ran Gvili’s destiny turned out to be the last one.
The one that after over two pain filled years of emotional torture, uncertainty and grief catalyzed the many yellow looping ribbons slowly to be shed across Israel and across the world.
Ran, whose name will forever be intertwined with the conclusion of this devastating chapter in Jewish history, will now, we hope, allow for the nation of Israel truly to begin healing. Ran, whose soul, whose candle, lit and illuminated all of Am Yisrael.
May Ran’s soul finally know peace.
© IJN 2026
