Loree Sandler
The first time I wore a number was Day 100, Sunday, January 14, 2024. I’d forgotten to pack masking tape and marker, so the hotel provided clear tape and pen. On the way to a post-wedding brunch, I imagined my answer if somebody asked.
“It’s the number of days hostages have been held in Gaza,” I would state, just the fact. Neither inviting nor avoiding conversation.
But nobody asked. The tape didn’t adhere well, and the tiny blue 100 was barely visible against my shirt.
As an increasingly public figure, Rachel Goldberg-Polin, mother of 23-year-old American Israeli hostage, Hersh, (murdered on Day 328), began wearing tape on Day 26. She asked people worldwide to mark 100 days to raise awareness, share grief, help #BringThemHome.
Wearing 100 on a piece of tape seemed like the least I, or anyone, could do to keep the world’s focus on hostages. A simple yet profound gesture. Non-partisan. Non-anything but solidarity with humanity.
Was it Day 2 when students, celebrities, and politicians began to wear masks, keffiyehs, “ceasefire” pins, and slogans? Was it only terrorists who purposefully dressed as civilians?
The 251 people stolen from Israel on 10/7 ranged in age from 9 months to 86 years. They held passports from 29 nations. The planet should have reverberated with cries for their release. But the hostages became a bargaining chip, an excuse, a footnote, while a horrific war raged on.
At the DNC, when tape marked Day 320, Jon Polin, (Rachel’s husband, Hersh’s father) eloquently said, "There is a surplus of agony on all sides.... In a competition of pain there are no winners." Hersh was still alive. Rachel and Jon still had hope that anyone with power to act would save their only son.
On United Airlines from Chicago to New York, Day 434, my flight attendant wore a necklace in the shape of Israel, covered with the Palestinian flag.
“It wasn’t a peace sign or a pairing of Israeli and Palestinian flags,” I noted in my letter of complaint.
That necklace, erasing the Jewish state, was deeply offensive. A piece of tape with a number marking time might have been painful to contemplate but should not have offended a soul.
On a tour in Israel, Day 584, our guide distributed tape. “Remind people,” he implored.
Every day since, my husband, Bob, wore tape. Hardly anybody he encountered knew what it was about.
On Day 738 the 20 hostages who miraculously survived captivity, were released. Bob stayed glued to the television, waiting for news of their return. He ripped the tape from his shirt while we watched families reunite.
Still there is fighting. Still there are protests. Still there are hostages who need to come home to be buried.
In an interview months ago, Rachel said she looked forward to the day when masking tape was just tape again.
I pray for that day to come soon.