Mother of Hamas hostage: ‘She’s our only daughter’

Sixty-one-year-old Liora Argamani and her husband Yakov talk about Noa, their 26-year-old daughter, without tears, in steady voices. They are both optimistic. They believe she’s alive. They are cautious about their political positions. They don’t want to say anything against the Israeli government. “We are simple people. We have nothing to do with politics. I sincerely hope that they are doing all they can,” Liora says laconically. “But I’m not sure.” It’s been more than four months since Noa was taken hostage by Hamas. She has become the face of the October 7 attacks. In the video of her abduction, she has her arms outstretched toward her boyfriend, Avinatan Or. Her mouth forms a grimace of fear. “Everyone says she’s screaming, ‘Don’t kill me,’ but I think she is saying, ‘Don’t kill him.’ She is so in love with Avinatan,” her mother says.

Liora wears a cap to hide her thinning hair from the chemotherapy treatments. She is confined to a wheelchair. She has terminal brain cancer. Her only thought is to see Noa again, even if only once. “We don’t always agree. Sometimes we agree, sometimes we disagree,” she says, laughing. “Isn’t that how mothers are with their daughters?” I reply. She laughs. Yakov thinks they have a great relationship. “Sometimes I envy them,” he admits. I ask him how he found out what happened on the morning of October 7. He seems to have told the story many times. But he does it again, almost mechanically:

‘We are simple people. We have nothing to do with politics. I sincerely hope that they are doing all they can. But I’m not sure,’ says Liora Argamani

“At 6.30 in the morning, the sirens began to sound. I told Liora, ‘It’s nothing, it’s a mistake.’ But when they kept going, I told her we should go to the shelter. We went to Noa’s room to tell her to come to the shelter as well. That’s when I realized she was missing. I didn’t know that she had gone to the festival. I called her and her boyfriend, but they didn’t answer. An hour and a half later I got a message from Avinatan that they were both OK and that he would get back to us later. I was surprised that he texted me that we would talk later. I had no idea that he was there. When I realized what had happened, I ran to the hospital, where other relatives had gathered, all looking for their children. At 10.30 in the morning, one of Noa’s classmates called me and said he wanted to talk to me. That’s when I knew something serious had happened. He told me that there was a video showing that Noa had been kidnapped by Hamas and taken to Gaza. At first I couldn’t believe it. Someone showed me the video on their cellphone. I collapsed and lost consciousness. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave the hospital and go home and tell Liora. After a few hours, I saw another video of Noa drinking water in a room in Gaza. She looked scared.” From that moment on, both parents have been feeling torn apart. It has been 140 days since then. “We pray to God all the time. We feel helpless,” she says, her voice fading.

In January, Hamas released a new video. In it, Noa and two other hostages, Itay Svirsky and Yossi Sharabi, appeared to be pleading with the Israeli government to bring them back. The edited footage, which gave no indication of the date it was taken, ended with a caption: “Tomorrow we will inform you of their fate.” Forty-eight hours later, in a second video, Noa described the deaths of her two fellow prisoners in Israeli raids. Two bodies are shown beside her. “While we are still alive, help us go home,” Noa says, looking into the camera. “Can you imagine the time between the two videos? While we were waiting to see who remained alive?” asks Liora.

I ask her to describe Noa: “She’s our only daughter. She’s not afraid of anything. I’ve always told her to be careful, she’s beautiful, the world is a dangerous place. Not everyone is kind.” I don’t know if she’s saying this as if to scold her daughter for disregarding her warnings and being at the festival that fateful day, or if Liora’s comforting herself that Noa will get through it because she’s so fearless. “She’s very special. Headstrong. She loves life. She loves being with friends. She loves to watch the sunset. A free spirit,” Yakov adds. “She is so smart. When she was 8 years old, she said to me, ‘Just because you’re my dad doesn’t mean you know everything.’”

Liora was born in Wuhan, China. But she did not expect any meaningful intervention from the Chinese leadership. “My daughter is not Chinese. So I was not hoping that they would do anything.” The two parents have appealed to all countries that play a significant role in the Middle East, especially in the negotiations for an agreement with Hamas, including the US, Qatar and Egypt. Psychologist Vered Atzmon Meshulam is the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors from Thessaloniki and Larissa. She has been monitoring the Argamani family since Noa was taken. She suggested that a farewell meeting be held in Athens for Liora and her two sisters from China. At our meeting in a central Athens hotel in Omonia, she helps with the translation. Behind us, Liora’s two sisters are quietly eating breakfast. Every now and then she turns and looks at them happily. They hadn’t seen each other for eight years because of the pandemic. Donors Avi Schwartz and Tzachi Kafri of Israeli NGO the A-Team paid for the trip to Athens.

The grammar of hope

Lately, Noa’s parents have been avoiding interviews with Israeli media. They fear that the visibility would raise her “price tag,” making her a valuable bargaining chip that Hamas could hold until the end. But Liora doesn’t have much time left. “A few months to live,” Meshulam tells me. “Noa studied at Ben Gurion University, didn’t she?” I ask Liora. “Yes, she’s studying computer science,” she answers, subtly correcting my use of the past tense.