February 23, 2025|כ"ה שבט ה' אלפים תשפ"ה The Murder of Kfir and Ariel Bibas By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

The Gemara in Ketuvot 104a states that on the day that Rebbi died, the Rabbis declared a fast, beseeched Heaven for mercy, and declared, "Kol man d’amar nach nafshei d’Rebbi, yidkar becharev"—"Anyone who says that Rebbi has passed will be pierced with a sword." They knew the truth—that Rebbi had died—but the pain of uttering those words was unbearable.

That is how I felt, and perhaps how many of us felt, for the past year, about the fate of Ariel and Kfar Bibas, Hashem yikom damam. For over a year, whispers suggested they were likely no longer alive, murdered in captivity—especially after their absence from the first hostage release last November and certainly when they were not among those initially freed in the most recent release. But "Kol man d’amar nach nafshei – the pain of uttering those words was unbearable. Tragically, I was not surprised by Thursday’s grim confirmation, nor by Hamas’ cruelty.

Was the barbarism displayed last Thursday—parading the murder of two children along with Oded Lifschitz as though it were a Macy’s Day Parade—shocking after the horrors of October 7th? Perhaps not, but the image of the small coffins of Ariel and Kfir, despite its tragic inevitability, struck a deep and painful chord. They had come to symbolize all Israeli hostages. Over the past year, their bright orange hair became a symbol of hope and solidarity, uniting supporters worldwide. Orange balloons filled the skies in Tel Aviv on Kfir’s first birthday. The color orange, once associated with joy, transformed into an international emblem of shared sorrow. Batman, Ariel’s favorite superhero, adorned posters and social media campaigns, amplifying the call to bring these boys home.

Thursday’s events, together with the “mix up” of the body of Shiri Bibas, was not just a moment of mourning—it was a stark reminder of the brutal reality we face. It underscored the depravity of an enemy whose barbarism has permeated every facet of Gazan society. When parents and children line the streets to celebrate the murder of babies, waving flags as if participating in a holiday parade, we witness the full indoctrination of an entire culture into a death cult. This is the society that much of the world still expects Israel to make peace with. Even before Thursday’s events, surveys revealed that 90% of Israelis feel Palestinians cannot be trusted, yet global voices persist in promoting a two-state solution as the only viable path forward. 

As we approach Adar and Purim, we are reminded of our historic triumph over Haman, a descendant of Amalek. Hamas embodies Amalek, and the Kabbalists teach that the gematria of Amalek equals that of safek—doubt. Amalek sows confusion, distorts truth, and creates doubt about what is real. Hamas employs the same strategy, portraying themselves as victims of genocide while committing unspeakable atrocities.

The world briefly rallied around us after October 7th, and again many recoiled at Thursday’s events—the murder of two innocent children and the grotesque celebration of their deaths. Yet confusion persists. How can a society so barbaric convince so many of its victimhood? Thursday was a visceral reminder of their evil and the moral clarity we must maintain.

Amid the pain, I was reminded of a moment from eighteen years ago when our shul traveled on a Jewish heritage mission to Poland. We walked the path of Jewish life before the Holocaust and confronted the horrors of the camps. Moving from one camp to another, the scale of loss was numbing. Yet amid the darkness, I found solace each time we visited the graves of our gedolim—Rav Chaim Brisker, the Rema, and others.

It struck me then that a grave—a physical marker—carries immense dignity. In the camps, there were no graves, no markers, no places to mourn. The absence of burial deepened the void, amplifying the loss.

This is why, despite the pain, it is deeply meaningful that Ariel, Kfir, and Oded Lifshitz were returned to us for burial. To bury them in their rightful makom, to honor them with a Jewish burial, is an act of profound kavod. After the Bar Kochba revolt 1900 years ago, when countless Jewish bodies lay exposed and dishonored, our rabbis instituted the blessing of Hatov v’Ha’meitiv, thanking God for the opportunity to bury the dead. Burial is not just an act of respect; it allows for mourning, closure, and, ultimately, healing.

Now, we can cry for Ariel and Kfir. Now, we can mourn them and honor their lives. Thursday, as excruciating as it was, gave us the opportunity to reaffirm our values. We are a people who cherish life, even in death, and who hold onto hope even in the face of unimaginable pain.

This resilience is our strength. It is what makes us the am kadosh, the chosen people. I think of the Klausenberger Rebbe, who, during the Holocaust, was beaten by SS officers. When mocked and asked, "Do you still believe you are the chosen people?" he replied, "Yes. As long as we are not the ones kicking, beating, and murdering innocent people, we are the chosen people."

We see this holiness in the stories emerging from this tragedy. Shir Siegel shared how her father Keith Siegel, who was released from the dungeons of Gaza three weeks ago, found his Jewish identity in captivity. Amidst the darkness, he began reciting Shema Yisrael and blessings over food. When he returned home, his first request was not for a favorite meal but for a kippah and Kiddush cup.

Or Sasha Troufanov, who was held captive for over 498 days and released last Shabbat. Upon his release, he asked for one thing: to put on tefillin for the first time in his life. With tears streaming down his face, he recited Shema with deep emotion, rediscovering his connection to God and his people.

These stories remind us that even in the face of unspeakable evil, our spirit endures. Hamas celebrates literally on a pile of rubble, destroying their people and their future. We, by contrast, are a nation that builds, heals, and continues to thrive.

In this week’s parsha, God promises to send an angel to help us defeat our enemies, but He tells us, m’at m’at agarshenu—we will overcome them little by little. With faith in God, the strength of our people, and the clarity of our values, we will prevail.

Hashem yikom damam. May the memory of Ariel, Kfir and Oded inspire us to hold fast to our mission and to the hope of geulah, the hope of our ultimate redemption.