After the Hamas attacks of October 7, 2023, I joined an online initiative in which participants “adopted” a hostage—to pray for them daily, to take on extra mitzvot in their name and to give tzedakah in their honor. I adopted Eden Zecharya. Little did I know at the time that doing so would lead me back to Hadassah and, ultimately, to Israel.

For more than 60 days, Eden, a 27-year-old from Rishon LeZion who had attended the Nova music festival with her boyfriend, Ofek Kimchi, was in my heart. I prayed for her by name. I carried her with me in the quiet moments, hoping every day to hear news of her safe return after being taken hostage.

But while other hostages’ names appeared in updates and on release lists, including the temporary ceasefire in November 2023 that saw the return of dozens of hostages, hers never did. And then, on December 12, 2023, I read this report in the Times of Israel:

“The Israel Defense Forces announced Tuesday that it had recovered the bodies of civilian Eden Zecharya and IDF Warrant Officer Ziv Dado, who were taken hostage by Hamas on October 7…. They were found in a tunnel deep in the enclave, near the home of Ahmed Ghandour, the former commander of Hamas’s northern Gaza Brigade, who was recently killed in an Israeli strike.”

I remember staring at the screen, unable to breathe. How could I mourn someone I had never met? Why did it feel like I had lost a piece of myself? I kept thinking, I should have done more. I should have prayed harder.

To make sense of the pain, I started reading everything I could find about Eden, who at the time of her murder had been raising two Viszla dogs, Ted and Kaya, with her boyfriend and who was described by everyone who knew her as having a radiant, spiritual outlook and deep love of music as well as animals—especially dogs. That research led me to her mother, Orin Gantz, who had begun to speak publicly about her loss and the impossible act of continuing to live when her world had shattered. 

Orin regularly delivers to in-person audiences a Hebrew-language lecture, titled Flying with Broken Wings, in which she speaks about living with gratitude and the human ability to influence and create change not only within ourselves, but also within our homes, our communities and every space we touch.

I reached out to her, hoping to learn more—hoping, honestly, to do something with all the grief I was carrying since learning of her daughter’s death. We connected on Facebook, and I arranged for her to give her lecture, over Zoom and in English, to my Chabad community in Norwalk, Conn.

Then I began managing Eden’s memorial account on Instagram—@remember_edenzecharya. I wanted to ensure that her memory would never dim.

Yet still, something inside me remained unsettled. Eventually, I understood what I needed to do. I had to travel to Israel.

I searched for Israel trips, and the one that felt right was sponsored by Hadassah. My only connection to Hadassah had been through my grandmother, Clare Rosenberg, who had served as a chapter president in Bridgeport, Conn., many years ago. She gifted me a life membership before she passed away, but I had never thought of it—until I found the “Paced to Please” tour led by Debbie Kessler, co-chair of Hadassah Israel Travel, which began, meaningfully, on my 40th birthday this past November.

On the ground in Israel, I witnessed the transformative role Hadassah plays in the nation, from the lifesaving work at its two Jerusalem hospitals to the difference being made in students’ lives at the Meir Shfeyah Youth Aliyah Village.

Being in Israel also gave me the chance to meet Orin in person. After all, I had flown from Connecticut to Israel to look this mother in the eye and tell her how extraordinary she is; that her daughter’s memory has touched my life in ways I can never fully explain; and that I am here for her.

And thankfully, when our Hadassah tour visited the site of the Nova festival, my fellow travelers were there for me. The experience of walking among the rows of memorial plaques bearing the faces and stories of so many lost lives, all the time looking for Eden, haunted me. But the support from my new friends gave me strength. On the bus ride there, I had shared my connection to Eden and Orin. It was the only moment during the trip when the bus fell completely silent, everyone listening with empathy and respect.

With some tour members standing beside me, I lit a candle for Eden. The flame burned hot against the wind as I stared at Eden’s photograph and read the words on her plaque that detailed her too short but remarkable life. I felt Eden’s presence, gentle but unmistakable.

And I know I would never have experienced that moment without Hadassah helping to guide me there.

Orin has written a powerful and deeply moving book in Eden’s memory that she adapted from her lecture. Flying With Broken Wings: 365 Ways to Turn Every Challenge Into an Opportunity features insights on transforming crisis into growth. The book is currently available in Hebrew only but will soon be translated into English so that more readers can learn from Orin’s wisdom.

Throughout my trip to Israel and now back home, I carry Eden’s memory with me. Not as a name on a list, not as a story in a headline, but as a guiding light I choose to honor every day. I flew to Israel looking for closure, but instead I found purpose. Eden’s wings may be broken, but they can still lift us. 

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Marci Pratt is the owner and creative force behind the Judaica shop Marci Gifts. She lives in Fairfield, Conn., with her two dogs, Gideon and Meira.