Celebrating Hanukkah Without My Grandfather: The Impact of Hamas’ Oldest Hostage

As Hanukkah approaches, a potential agreement that might allow my grandfather and 99 other hostages to return home from Hamas captivity after over a year of anguish is finally coming into view.

During every Hanukkah, my grandfather Shlomo Mantzur, a true craftsman, thrived while creating his own menorahs.

He consistently triumphed in the annual menorah-making contest at Kibbutz Kissufim in southern Israel.

We affectionately referred to him as the Light of the Family, his radiant smile spreading warmth wherever he went.

Now, that light has been extinguished.

At 86 years old, my grandfather is currently the oldest hostage held in Gaza.

This man, who endured the horrors of the Farhud in Iraq as a child in 1941, is now facing yet another ordeal.

Back then, intruders invaded his family’s home, assaulted his parents, and committed unspeakable acts that haunted his nights. Nevertheless, he never allowed that darkness to define him.

My grandparents displayed a small gray and turquoise clay sign at their kibbutz home. This sign, adorned with a little hamsa hand amulet on its left side, proclaimed, “Life is Happy Here in This World.”

And it was true — life was genuinely joy-filled there.

Whenever friends expressed concern about my visits to my grandparents in the Gaza area, I would feel excitement instead. I felt safe there.

Until that grim day on October 7.

On that fateful Saturday, Hamas terrorists shot through my grandparents’ door and walls before entering.

They forcibly handcuffed my grandfather and took him away in his sleepwear while my grandmother Mazal (meaning “luck” in Hebrew) managed to flee to a neighbor’s safe room.

The clay sign at their home entrance was shattered by gunfire, leaving only four haunting words: “Life is Happy Here.”

Since that day, life has been anything but happy.

Last Hanukkah was our first without him. We assembled at my aunt’s house to light candles with my grandmother.

Everything felt off and sorrowful. My young cousins lit the candles, but I can’t even remember if we sang any traditional songs.

The first time I publicly spoke about my grandfather was during the eighth-night candle-lighting ceremony organized by all the kibbutzim to honor those taken and slain on October 7.

Now, we find ourselves observing another Hanukkah without him.

Another Hanukkah of lighting candles, yet there is no real illumination — the candles burn, but we remain shrouded in darkness.

The entire kibbutz knew my grandfather’s routine of reading Psalms each morning.

When my grandmother and all the surviving members of the community were relocated to a hotel, they placed an empty chair in the lobby and set his Psalms book atop it, waiting for his return.

He weighed a mere 125 pounds when the terrorists abducted him, and now more than a year has passed.

We have no information about his health, or whether he is receiving his medications, if he is warm enough, or even if he is still alive.

The world must know about my grandfather and all the other hostages still held in Gaza. Time is running short, especially for the elderly like him.

He should be here with us, celebrating his 60th wedding anniversary with my grandmother, playing with his 12 grandchildren, and crafting new menorahs for the holiday.

My grandfather is hard of hearing — and was kidnapped without his hearing aids. In the suffocating silence of captivity, enduring starvation, abuse, and lack of medical care, he can’t even hear what’s happening around him.

He must be terrified and bewildered, alone amid total silence.

Until he comes home, his chair remains empty, his Tehilim book lies unopened, and the light he brought into our lives dims more with each passing day.

Over the last year, I have traveled worldwide, meeting heads of state, religious leaders, diplomats, and human rights organizations — urging anyone who will listen that the world must act decisively to secure their return.

We are now at a pivotal moment, with a possible deal on the horizon that could finally bring my grandfather and all the hostages back home.

But we need your voice too. We need you to raise awareness, to share their stories, to ensure their names are not forgotten.

Please, do not let my grandfather be overlooked. Do not allow any of the hostages to fade from memory.

Help us bring their light back home.

Noam Safir, a 21-year-old law student from Eilat, is the granddaughter of Shlomo Mantzur, the oldest hostage being held captive by Hamas in Gaza.