In a heartbreaking letter to the National Post, the mother of nineteen-year-old Agam Berger reveals the devastating journey she has endured since her daughter’s abduction by Hamas terrorists on October 7
Note: In light of the profound sensitivity surrounding the incident and out of the deepest respect for the victim, we believe it would be inappropriate to merely summarize the heartfelt words of Meirav Berger regarding her daughter’s abduction. To do so would risk diminishing the gravity and sincerity of her message. Consequently, we have decided to publish the full text of her letter, unedited, to ensure her voice is heard in its entirety and with the respect it demands.
It has been more than two hundred and nineteen thousand, one hundred and fifty minutes since I last spoke with my daughter Agam.
Yes, I’m counting the minutes. Not the hours, not the days, not the weeks or months. Minute-by-minute, my mind and body are in constant, excruciating pain as I wait for Agam, who was brutally kidnapped by Hamas terrorists on Oct. 7, to come back home.
The last I heard from the brave hostages who returned from the depths of the Gaza underground, she was in a dark, damp tunnel. They told me she, too, might be a victim of sexual violence.
It’s been 219,150 minutes of sheer terror, a nightmare really, of loneliness, and so much pain.
219,150 minutes of agony. Of utter distress and excruciating dread. Of what we know Agam has endured, and what she is enduring right now, as I write these words. I shudder to think of what I know, but also from what I don’t know, and how much longer she can go on like this.
It may sound insane to count these minutes, but if it was your daughter, or sister, you would be watching the seconds go by, too. Tick, tick, tick, while praying for her safety and quick return, and then mustering up every iota of strength to make sure the world knows that innocent daughters, sisters, sons, brothers and fathers are being held against their will by merciless terrorists.
From the testimonies of returned hostages, I already know how strong she has been. How she has been praying, believing deeply in her faith. How our Creator of the universe is watching over her even in such dismal times, giving her strength to survive these two hundred thousand minutes, and counting.
I’m told that my heroic daughter has kept that steadfast faith in even the most impossible situations, relaying her gratitude over every crumb she managed to eat. When Hamas terrorists forced her into serving them in their homes, she refused to light fires and cook for them on the Sabbath. Her captors are ruthless in their cruelty, and know no moral boundaries, subjecting her to violence — both physical and sexual — that I can’t bring myself to think of. But Agam is the strongest person I know, and as always, is choosing to lean on her faith and lifting up those around her.
She’s just 19 years old.
219,150 minutes. Tick, tick, tick. Time goes by but the world must not allow this atrocity, this blatant human rights violation, to continue one minute longer.
As the minutes go by, I imagine how hard I will hug my daughter when she’s back in my arms. How I’ll cuddle her, soothe her, and tell her how much I love her. How she’ll pick up her violin and play beautiful music, the talented musician that she is. I hum to myself Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah, one of her favourite works of art. I dream about how she’ll celebrate with us at her brother Ilay’s upcoming bar mitzvah, and how we’ll all celebrate our freedom.
Bring her and all the hostages home, now. Let’s not allow the evil to take over the good. Let’s not allow indifference to muffle our cries for our daughters. Let’s not let another minute go by, without all of them home, where they belong.
