Under the bright yet somber skies of southern Israel, two funerals took place on Sunday that encapsulated both the personal heartbreak and collective endurance of an entire nation still grappling with the trauma of October 7th and its long aftermath.

At Kibbutz Nir Oz, hundreds gathered to lay Amiram Cooper z”l to rest — a man remembered as a poet, husband, and father who survived nearly two years in Hamas captivity before his death in Gaza. A few miles away, at Kibbutz Be’eri, another mass of mourners assembled to bid farewell to Sahar Baruch, whose body was returned to Israel last week after the young hostage perished in Hamas hands.

As Israel National News reported on Sunday, the funerals were not merely moments of mourning — they were acts of collective remembrance, uniting bereaved families, friends, and fellow citizens in a shared pledge: to bring home every last hostage, and to rebuild the shattered communities of Israel’s south.

At Nir Oz, emotion rippled through the crowd as Nurit Cooper, Amiram’s wife and herself a survivor of Hamas captivity, delivered a eulogy that was both deeply personal and hauntingly universal.

“Writing about Cooper in the past tense feels incredibly strange to me,” she began, her voice trembling, as quoted in the Israel National News report. “I arrived at Nir Oz at age 18 as a member of the Tzabar core group. Even before I met Cooper, I had heard about a young man in the Nir Oz group who wrote poetry and whistled melodies. I loved his poems.”

Her words painted a portrait of a gentle soul — an artist of the land and spirit, whose life was intertwined with the kibbutz he loved. “Later we met, fell in love, and built a family together,” she continued. “Cooper was an exemplary husband and a warm, loving father to his children and grandchildren. We lived a full and good life in Nir Oz, always together, inseparable.”

The tragedy of their shared captivity lingers in every sentence. “Even in the tunnels, we were together,” she recalled, according to Israel National News. “We shared the same mattress and the meager food we received, hoping to return home alive. This is a tremendous loss for all of us. Life without him is lonely. I miss you so much and I long for you.”

The grief of the Cooper family reverberated through Nir Oz — a kibbutz that once symbolized resilience, now marked by loss.

Amiram’s son, Rotem Cooper, spoke of his father’s steadfast devotion to their home and community. “You and Mom remained devoted to Nir Oz and never left your home, even during difficult days under rocket attacks,” he said, standing before the fresh grave. “And so it was on that Black Saturday when you and Mom were kidnapped by despicable murderers.”

As Israel National News reported, Rotem’s tone shifted from pain to reverence as he described his parents’ ordeal. “By a miracle, Mom was released and returned to our family after 17 days in Hamas tunnels. We find small comfort in knowing that you knew this had happened,” he said.

He imagined his father’s final months — trapped in darkness, sustained by sheer will. “The days, weeks, and months that passed since your wife’s release were undoubtedly unbearable, as your soul wavered between hope and despair, and your body struggled to function under the degrading conditions in which you were held. Yet with tremendous inner strength, you survived for many long months.”

Then came his pledge: “Today we are laying you to rest alongside your comrades in mission and path — the last grave in an all-too-long row of graves dug since that Black Saturday,” Rotem said, referring to October 7th. “A grave that also symbolizes the closing of a chapter for our family and for our beloved Nir Oz community — a community that can now look toward rehabilitation and rebuilding. But we will not forget that there are still hostages in Gaza who must return to their homes. We will continue fighting for their return, until the very last one.”

His sister, Ravit Notcovitch, followed with words of aching finality. “Dad, the past few weeks have been unbearable,” she confessed, echoing a sentiment that resonates across countless Israeli families. “As if we hadn’t already endured enough torment from the uncertainty, Hamas continued to toy with us again and again.”

She described the psychological torment of alternating hope and despair. “The possibility that you would finally return to us after two years seemed at times so real it caused physical pain and racing heartbeats, and at other times receded into gnawing, tormenting despair. The thought that you might remain there forever was unbearable for me.”

As Israel National News reported, her words struck the crowd with devastating clarity: “I’m sorry we couldn’t bring you back alive. I’m sorry you had to lie there for such a long time. There is something relieving about certainty, something that allows the heart to find peace. May certainty come to all the families, and may no family be left alone in the struggle to bring our loved ones home.”

She ended with a moral demand: “‘Until the last hostage’ — this is not a slogan. It’s a value. It’s action. It’s a cry that must resonate constantly, and each of us must ask ourselves: where were we and what do we choose to do at this time?”

While Nir Oz mourned one of its patriarchs, the nearby kibbutz of Be’eri was similarly united in grief as hundreds gathered to bury Sahar Baruch, whose body was returned from Gaza last week.

As reported by Israel National News, Sahar’s funeral was an overwhelming scene of mourning and remembrance. He was buried beside his brother, Idan Baruch, who was murdered during the October 7th massacre, and near his grandmother, Geula, also slain that same day.

The tragedy spanned three generations of one family. Standing before her son’s coffin, Tami Baruch, Sahar’s mother, delivered a eulogy that was at once intimate and national — a mother’s grief intertwined with Israel’s collective trauma.

“My dear Sahar, finally you have been brought home,” she began softly, her words carried by the wind over Be’eri’s scarred fields. “On that terrible day in Be’eri and the Gaza Envelope, about 1,179 civilians were murdered — including our Idan and your grandmother, Geula. On that horrifying day, 251 people were abducted.”

Since then, she reminded the mourners, “a war has been waged to return our security and our hostages, in which about 1,152 soldiers have been killed. Now, two years later, 11 hostages still remain in captivity. Only when they all return will this terrible chapter end.”

The report at Israel National News noted how Tami’s speech, though deeply personal, resonated with every bereaved family in Israel. “This trauma will always be engraved in our hearts,” she said.

Tami’s voice broke as she recalled her son’s character and passions: “For far too long you were held captive, and it had already become part of your identity,” she said. “Before that, you had many other identities — traveler, chess player, kayaker, Torah scholar, nerd, and more. I hoped you would have new identities — an electrical engineer, a partner, a father — but that will no longer happen. We have many memories, but not enough. I grieve that we will never create new ones.”

To the accompaniment of singer Oren Barzilai, who performed “I Will Dream Forever” — a song Sahar loved and often sang — the mourners wept openly.

“You parted from us here, in the land of Be’eri you loved so much,” Tami continued. “I used to sit on a rock while you and Idan rode your bikes on the red trail. Now you are close to us — to Idan, to Grandma Geula, and to so many others.”

Her final words were almost a whisper: “The song we chose today is the one I heard you sing hundreds — maybe thousands — of times in the shower. I loved hearing you sing, and I love you always.”

As the report at Israel National News observed, the funerals at Nir Oz and Be’eri were more than personal farewells; they were national rites of passage, marking two years since the October 7th atrocities that tore through Israel’s soul.

Both ceremonies embodied a shared message: that the pain of loss must coexist with the obligation to rebuild.

The graves of Amiram Cooper and Sahar Baruch now lie among hundreds of others dug since that black morning — symbols of communities whose names have become synonymous with both tragedy and resilience.

The Israel National News report quoted several attendees who described the burials as “a moment of reckoning” — a recognition that while some chapters of grief are closing, others remain painfully open. Eleven hostages still remain in Gaza.

In the words of both families, one refrain echoed again and again: “Until the last hostage.”

From the tunnels of Gaza to the soil of Nir Oz and Be’eri, the phrase has transcended politics — becoming a moral and national commitment.

As the Israel National News report observed, the funerals were not merely endings but acts of renewal — the reaffirmation of a people’s bond to life, to memory, and to the sacred duty of bringing everyone home.

For Israel, these are not isolated tragedies. They are the stories of a nation that refuses to surrender — to despair, to indifference, or to the darkness that sought to destroy it.

Standing beside two fresh graves, amid the hum of prayer and song, that refusal was palpable — a collective vow rising from the ashes of Nir Oz and Be’eri: “We will remember. We will rebuild. And we will bring them all home.”