As a journalist, I never had interest in going to war zones or writing about geo-politics. It has never been my lane. I always wanted to write about lifestyle topics, like I do here in Something Glorious. I planned to have my next newsletter focus on amarone wine, but it will have to wait. If you don’t want to read this, that’s OK. The lighthearted things I write about will return soon. I promise.
But now, my heart hurts. My soul is heavy. I have been emotional and tired and sad and angry and confused and bewildered since Drew woke me up Saturday morning with the news that Hamas terrorists had invaded southern Israel, unleashing the worst attack on the country in 50 years.
We’ve all read stories and have watched the news and have our feelings and opinions. I have my feelings. I have seen and read way too much and I can’t unsee those things. I’m not here to talk about this side or that side. It’s all awful. Too many innocent people’s lives are being torn apart.
I just want to talk about the one that made it personal.
Early in the day on Sunday, I saw a news story about a young man who was missing. He was one of dozens. I glanced at his name, but didn’t make the connection. Then Sunday evening I got a text from an old friend. And as soon as I saw her name, I knew something was wrong.
“Not sure you saw this,” she wrote. “Jon Polin’s son is missing.”
I pulled up the story, the same news report, and saw Hersh’s face. I read the name again. It all clicked. And I lost it.
Sitting at my kitchen table, I began sobbing. For all the sadness and rage I had felt over the last 36 hours, this now brought it close to home.
Even though we hadn’t spoken in some time, I had texted Jon Saturday morning to see if they were safe. I met Jon — along with his wife, Rachel — in 1996 while visiting Israel with Judy and Aaron Gadiel (although he and I both felt we had met earlier in life; he was also from Chicago) and my college friend, Brian Schwartz. We all spent time together in Jerusalem and I felt a bond with them then. Their kindness, their laughter.
Then he and I reconnected in 2012 when I left Eater Chicago and starting working at Abe’s Market, a company he cofounded. It was during those two years (and after) we got closer. But as life happens, we didn’t keep up communication.
So when I saw the news about Hersh, time and space didn’t matter. This already-horrible attack became personal. I got a message back from Jon Monday morning. He simply sent a heart.
Another friend in Israel who we worked with sent me a post that Hersh, who was at the music fest with friends celebrating his 23rd birthday, had been confirmed taken hostage. I then saw another story that said part of his arm was blown off from a grenade and that he tied his own tourniquet around it before being taken away, along with many others, by Hamas into Gaza.
This evening, I watched Jon and Rachel on more than one news broadcast talking about Hersh and what information they had about his ordeal — along with details about his friends and others at the music fest. On ABC World News Tonight, they sat down with David Muir (starts around 1:30) in Tel Aviv and talked so calmly and bravely about their missing son.
Hearing Rachel say they are living every parent’s nightmare broke my heart. She said, “When I have these quiet moments at night, I keep saying, it’s OK, it’s OK.” And she sends him all her strength. Jon told him to come home, but to stay strong and fight. They both looked exhausted, distraught.
How a parent could gather the strength to have this conversation is beyond me. I have to think they’re running on adrenaline and hope at this point. Hope Hersh is alive and will make it home. I read another story where the journalist said, “Hersh was,” and Jon quickly corrected him, “Hersh is.” I, too, hope he comes home.
This is just one story. One story of many from so many innocent people, Israelis and Palestinians. The countless people caught up in this never-ending centuries old war of hate.
Will it ever end?
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Love you. <3