Galia Mizrahi walked past rows of freshly dug graves, preparing to bury two loved ones killed when Hamas attacked southern Israel.
The 55-year-old had left her home in Tarzana less than two weeks earlier for the country of her birth, her heart “aching to be here for [her] family” as Israel plunged into war.
Not only were her 48-year-old cousin and his 20-year-old daughter killed in their kibbutz on Oct. 7 — four other family members are among the more than 220 people kidnapped and being held hostage in Gaza.
“In the presence of so much loss, all you can do is latch onto the hope that those who were taken will be returned,” Mizrahi said in a Zoom interview on Monday, still wearing her funeral black from earlier that day.
The kidnappings have reverberated around the world, including in the homes of Californians like Mizrahi. Some have visited a Shabbat dinner table in Beverly Hills with seats kept empty for the hostages or shared their stories from the steps of the State Capitol in Sacramento. Others have flown to Israel to support their families.
Sometimes, there are signs of hope. Nurit Cooper, 79, whose son lives in San Diego, was freed Monday evening. Cooper’s husband, Amiram, is still being held captive.
The news that Cooper and three other hostages were released has heartened Ryan Pessah, a Sacramento resident.
His cousin, his cousin’s girlfriend and his cousin’s sons, ages 12 and 16, were kidnapped.
“I remain optimistic,” Pessah said. “There’s no other choice.”
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Mizrahi was at a Shabbat dinner in Beverly Hills on Oct. 6 when she first learned of the code red alerts warning of an impending missile attack in southern Israel. Her aunt and uncle and two cousins, along with their wives and children, live in the Kfar Aza kibbutz, near the border with Gaza.
Within 15 minutes, Mizrahi received a text message from her family, saying there had been an attack. She cut the dinner short and headed home to wait for updates.
One cousin described hearing the alert and heading to a safe room in her house with her husband and children. Then, she told Mizrahi, her husband spotted someone coming down on a paraglider, machine gun in hand. The family got in their car and fled to a relative’s home.
Four houses down, Mizrahi’s other cousin, Nadav Goldstein Almog, had gone into their safe room with his wife; two daughters, ages 17 and 20; and two sons, 9 and 11. An Ironman athlete, Goldstein Almog was recovering from a hit-and-run cycling accident. He was still on crutches, and Mizrahi believes that’s why he couldn’t flee.
“The logical solution for him was to go into the safe room and keep his family safe,” Mizrahi said.
Days passed with no word about Goldstein Almog and his family. Other relatives later heard from the Israel Defense Forces that four bodies had been found in the safe room. Government officials were unable to confirm the identities, Mizrahi said.
On Oct. 11, Mizrahi’s father died in an Israeli hospital of causes unrelated to the war. After landing in the country two days later, she learned that only two bodies, not four, had been found in her cousin’s house. That left four relatives unaccounted for.
That weekend, Mizrahi’s family received preliminary confirmation that the bodies were those of Goldstein Almog and his daughter, Yam, an active-duty member of the military who had gone home for the weekend.
Investigators were able to determine their identities, Mizrahi said, through the crutches and metal plate in Goldstein Almog’s hip and Yam’s distinctive tattoo of two butterflies. No one knew where the other family members were.
“At the time, missing meant two things: Either they’re kidnapped and taken to the Gaza Strip, or they’re just unrecognizable,” Mizrahi said. “A few days go by without us knowing what missing means.”
Relatives held off on a funeral, unsure whether the four were still alive or whether they might have to bury them too. Then, on Oct. 19, authorities told the family they had information confirming that the four had been kidnapped and taken to Gaza.
Their condition remains unknown to the family.
The days Mizrahi has spent in Israel have felt like years, she said. “I’m so sorry for your loss” has become the new hello as she walks the streets.
“I feel like what I’ve squeezed into these 10, 12 days is someone else’s lifetime of sorrow,” she said.
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For Pessah, the details of his Israeli family members’ kidnappings unfolded one devastating, surreal text message at a time.
On Oct. 7, he was driving his wife and two young children from their home in Sacramento to the Bay Area to visit his uncle.
It was Saturday — Shabbat, the Jewish day of rest — a day he does not use his phone. His wife uses hers, though. As they drove, her phone began flashing with news alerts.
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu just declared war, she read aloud, stunned.
Then, a text message from Pessah’s mother in San Diego: “Yair and his family are missing.”
Nobody could reach Pessah’s cousin Yair Yaakov or his girlfriend, Meirav Tal, who were at Yaakov’s home in Nir Oz, a kibbutz in southern Israel two miles from Gaza.
Yaakov’s sons also were nowhere to be found.
On Sunday, Pessah’s mother — who is Yaakov’s aunt — texted a video.
It shows the inside of Yaakov’s house filled with smoke. His girlfriend, her eyes wide with terror and her clothing covered with dust from a grenade blast, grasps the hand of a militant, pleading as she is pulled and shoved. Yaakov sits on the floor, at gunpoint, as an intruder speaks to him.
Hamas militants filmed the video and texted it to Yaakov’s siblings, Pessah said.
“The moment I see Yair, I’m just shaking, crying. Just completely,” Pessah said. “He was taken because he’s Israeli. Because he’s Jewish. What is going to happen? How will we get him back? Just — why?”
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Yaakov, 59, a slender, bald man, is the ultimate cool guy, who smells of cigarette smoke when he wraps his arms around you, Pessah said.
“‘Let’s enjoy life.’ He embodied that,” Pessah said. “He’s a great hugger, always smiling and laughing.”
On the day of the siege, Yaakov and Tal were at his home, hiding in a bomb shelter, which are common in Israeli houses.
Hamas militants burst in, using a grenade to open the door to the shelter, and pulled the couple out, Pessah said.
Yaakov’s daughter and her boyfriend hid in a shelter in another home in the kibbutz. The attackers exploded a grenade in there too, but it jammed the door shut. They were found days later — grief-stricken but safe, Pessah said.
Yaakov’s sons were staying nearby at their mother’s house, but she was not there during the attack, Pessah said. In a phone call, she heard the boys pleading with the militants, telling them they were too young to be taken. Then the line went silent.
There has been no other communication from Yaakov, his girlfriend, his sons or the abductors.
Pessah, a 35-year-old political lobbyist, has become a de facto spokesman for his family in Israel, which includes most of his mother’s 11 siblings.
He has done media interviews. He spoke during a rally this week on the steps of the California Capitol. He told a state legislator to “check in with [their] Jewish community; they do not feel safe.”
Still, Pessah said, he feels helpless half a world away.
He said he feels scared, even here in California, where Jewish schools and synagogues and other institutions have increased security. It’s been frustrating, he said, seeing some people at pro-Palestinian rallies here in the U.S. appear sympathetic toward Hamas without condemning the killings and kidnappings of Israeli civilians.
“These are terrorists, period,” Pessah said of Hamas.
Pessah said he knows that if Israel launches a ground invasion of Gaza, there are likely to be “a high number of casualties on both sides.” He hopes that if the Israel Defense Forces do invade, they know in advance where the hostages are being kept.
For now, he hopes that Yaakov and his girlfriend and sons are together. He hopes they’re safe.
“It’s this unimaginable nightmare,” Pessah said. “I keep telling myself, ‘You’re not dreaming. You’re not going to wake up. This is reality.’”
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On Monday afternoon, a military procession escorted two coffins holding Goldstein Almog and his daughter, Yam. They were being buried at the Shefayim kibbutz in central Israel, Mizrahi said, because it was too dangerous in the south.
The hope, she said, is to transfer them back to their kibbutz once the community is rebuilt.
Around 500 people attended the funeral, including Yam’s military friends, who spoke highly of her dedication.
“Twenty-year-olds giving eulogy to other 20-year-olds is something I haven’t seen,” Mizrahi said. “They’re all so young, and they’ve all experienced so much loss.”
The four missing relatives were not forgotten during the three-and-a-half-hour service. It was held on the birthday of Goldstein Almog’s wife, Chen. The couple were high school sweethearts.
Inbar Goldstein, Goldstein Almog’s sister, read the crowd a poem she’d written.
“Our duty is not to forget,” she said. “Not to forget who was taken beyond the fence, not to forget those who are waiting to come home.”
After the attack, Yam’s aunt got the same butterfly tattoo as her niece. She added six hearts beside it, two of them blackened in.
The other four will remain empty, Mizrahi said, “until we know what happened to them.”
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