Several of the 13 Israeli hostages released Friday are from kibbutz Nir Oz, one of the communities on the Gaza border that suffered more casualties than others. Survivors from that kibbutz received the returnees with glee mixed with sadness. Some from Nir Oz remain in Hamas captivity.

I share that ambivalence. While a woman and her two small children were among those who were released today, their matron, Efrat Katz, was murdered on October 7. Her senseless death was a shock to those of us who grew up with Efrat, even as today we all rejoice the return of her surviving family members.   

“There is no relief until all abductees are home,” Yoni Asher, whose wife, 36-year-old Doron Asher-Katz, and their two daughters — Aviv, 2, and Raz, 4 — were among those who returned home, said. Mr. Asher became a potent spokesman for the hostages in the first days after October 7, when he made public the last phone conversations with his family members before they disappeared into Gaza.

His anguish came through as he gave interviews to the Israeli press. Mr. Asher was at home on October 7 while his wife and the girls went to visit grandma at Nir Oz on Simchat Torah. The grandmother, Efrat, lived at that kibbutz with her partner, Gadi Moses, who remains in captivity.

On that holiday morning, as the world now knows, Hamas terrorists arrived to kill, rape, behead, and abduct anyone they could find in Israel. Efrat, her partner, her daughter, and those two tiny granddaughters were taken into Gaza. After a while we learned that Efrat, at first thought to be missing, had been murdered soon after she was dragged out of her house and across the Gaza border. 

Two days ago, friends and schoolmates from the kibbutz where she and I were born, Kfar Menachem, went to Efrat’s grave to mark her 69th birthday. I followed them from afar through the class’s WhatsApp group. It was a solemn affair. The participants are now significantly older than I remember them.

They were still recognizable as when we grew up so many years ago. They sang, read poetry, and released yellow balloons with Efrat’s name, as well as those of her beloved Doron, Aviv, and Raz, who were still somewhere in Gaza. In the kibbutz we spent more time together than with our biological families, and we were as intimate with our classmates.

Our age group was named Shahaf, or Seagull. Efrat was a kind, gentle girl and, unlike some of us, I can’t remember her ever picking a fight with any classmate. Later in life, she was also much beloved at Nir Oz, a kibbutz that at least until October 7 was known for its pacifist, pro-Palestinian leanings.

Efrat, however, loved nothing more than her granddaughters, who now have whole lifetimes ahead. No doubt they will have to cope in the decades to come with the traumas of 49-day captivity that they suffered at the most tender age. Yet when the girls grow up, they will no doubt remember and cherish grandma. 

I surely do. Efrat, the girl I knew and loved from the cradle of the kibbutz where we were born until we parted ways at near-adulthood, will always remind me of the real people we lost on October 7. What a glorious Seagull she was.