Two hundred and twelve days have passed since the terrible massacre carried out by Hamas terrorists, against on babies, children, and elderly, women and men. Since then, we have been in a period of ‘difficult days and heavy bloodshed.' Since then, our brothers and sisters have been held hostage by a cruel enemy, and our hearts along with them. I appeal from the heart to the families of the hostages, and I cry out, and pray, and hope, and commit on behalf of the entire nation: we will not rest and we will not be silent until our sons and daughters returned home.

From here, I embrace and offer strength to the bereaved families. I hope the success and safe return of our soldiers on the various fronts, and for the swift return of the displaced residents to their homes, and I pray for the complete healing of the wounded in body and soul.

As I stand here tonight, at 'Yad VaShem,' at the foot of Mount Herzl, a video I saw at the height of the war stays with me and overwhelms me. In the video is embodied the essence of this holy place: Holocaust and revival intertwined, if you will – embracing each other; in the form of a grandfather and grandson, grandson and grandfather.

The grandfather - Eliakim Hollanders, a Holocaust survivor at 96 and a reservist in the IDF. The grandson, Uri Hollanders, a reserve soldier who went out for his first deployment, and came to visit his grandfather. They embrace. And the grandfather - a Holocaust survivor - whispers to his grandson, as tears flow down his cheeks: 'Blessed be God who allowed me to see you, armed, with a medal.' And adds: 'You are my victory.'

Our dear ones, the survivors of the Holocaust - heroes of resilience, members of families and generations to come. On April 11, 1945, the forces of the United States Army arrived at the Buchenwald Concentration Camp on German soil. The Gates of Hell were opened. There were then 4,000 Jews in the camp. Women and men, elderly and children. Sole survivors from whole families, the last remnants of extensive communities that were turned to dust and ashes. One of them, as is known, is you - Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau, formerly the Chief Rabbi of Israel and Chairman of the Yad Vashem Council.

Survivors of a world of suffering and death. Thirsty, hungry, exhausted, and sick. Their families slaughtered - slaughtered and burned. They were sure they were alone in the world. Among the liberated in Buchenwald was also Naftali Furst, just twelve years old. Prisoner number 14026B. In the iconic image [see attached black-and-white photo] - taken in Buchenwald just after liberation - Naftali lies on the top bunk, looking forward. Below him lies Eli Wiesel, of blessed memeoty, the spiritual heir of our people and in days to come, a Nobel laureate.

Naftali Furst was born in Slovakia. For three years, from the age of nine to twelve, he was in four different camps including Auschwitz-Birkenau, where he was separated from his parents. “We are the embers that did not burn in the great fire. There are not many like us who still remember and are able to speak about what was there,” Naftali once said, and added, “I feel like the last survivor. Like the last testimony.”

On October 7, in the murderous attack by Hamas, Naftali's granddaughter, Mika, with her partner Asif and their one-and-a-half-year-old son, Netanel, were in their home in Kfar Azza. They were trapped in a safe room, in the heart of the inferno, without water, without food, and without electricity. Their relatives and friends - including Asif's mother, Tami, and his partner - Eitan - were slaughtered; their neighbors' homes were set on fire; they did not stop hearing screams of terror and gunfire. Ten percent, a tenth of the small community of Kibbutz Kfar Azza were lost on that cursed Sabbath, and close to twenty beloved souls were abducted to the terror tunnels in Gaza, on the day when the most Jews were murdered and slaughtered in one day since the Holocaust.

Dear people of Israel, my sisters and brothers. Throughout the decades that have passed since the Holocaust, we assured time after time: "Never again," and we swore that the Jewish people would never again stand defenseless and unprotected. And yet, despite all that, the horrors of the Holocaust shook us all during the October massacres, echoing in all our hearts.

To me as well, the descriptions of mothers silencing babies so they wouldn't cry and give away their hiding place; of children torn from their parents; and of abominable murderers – who saw in the Nazis a model to emulate, and who, burnt, and butchered entire families – echoed the horrors among us. But especially on this day, I ask that we pay close attention to the words of Naftali Furst, who, after the massacre, said to his granddaughter Micah, and I quote: "This is similar, it's terrifying, there are no words to describe this cruelty, but it's not the same thing. It's not a Holocaust. There won't be a second Holocaust."

Indeed - it's not a Holocaust. It wasn't a Holocaust - because the Holocaust was the deepest abyss in human history, in every measure. Never in the annals of human history has there been such a systematic and total murder, on such a massive scale – spanning countries and continents. Lasting for so long, like the Jewish Holocaust.

One out of every three Jews in the world was murdered by the Nazi extermination machine. In Auschwitz alone, the factory of death, the symbol of horror, about ten thousand Jews were murdered on average every day. But the magnitude of the Holocaust is not the sole reason.

October 7th was not a Holocaust because today we have the State of Israel and the Israel Defense Forces. Although the results of the tragedy and the shock still haunt us; we don't forget that what our brothers and sisters who perished in the Holocaust could only dream of, only imagine: a country and an army of our own. An army that even now fights in a battle that has not yet ended – for our national home. The home of national independence.

I say this with complete and absolute conviction - despite the disaster and mourning that still afflicts us: nothing can destroy this home. This people, our people, who endured the most terrible Holocaust of all, and built for themselves sovereignty in their homeland two millennia after being exiled from it by force - nothing can erase them.

I hear the fear, worries, and concerns among many in the people. People ask me with deep concern – what will happen? I understand these concerns, and I respond decisively and smoothly: I believe in the eternal perseverance of Israel. I believe in the people of Israel, in the State of Israel, and in our duty to protect them at all costs.

For this reason, on this holy day, we must commit together to return and rebuild ourselves, relying on three foundations, weakened before the October massacre. And they are:

The foundation of self-defense.

The foundation of partnership and unity.

And the foundation of faith and hope.

The first foundation: always knowing how to defend ourselves. Always. As Iran and its terrorist proxies attack us, the State of Israel must continue to develop the capabilities to defend itself against any threat and attack; with a strong and advanced defense force, and diplomatic alliances – global and regional. Integration that will ensure us a proven qualitative advantage, and will fortify our existence as a Jewish and democratic state.

The foundation of defense also pertains, of course, to our brothers and sisters in Jewish communities around the world, who are currently under threat and attack – in communities and campuses. I address them from here – from our eternal capital, and say: we stand with you shoulder to shoulder against the onslaught of antisemitism, terrorism, and hatred directed at you in recent days. The State of Israel is with you. We are all with you.

The second foundation is the foundation of partnership and unity. Let's not forget that our historical claim to statehood – a claim fully backed and endorsed by the family of nations and its institutions – is based, among other things, on being one people, entitled to its own national state. Therefore, when I speak of unity - I mean being one people. When I say unity - I mean both unity of destiny and unity of purpose. When I say unity - I mean being one people, with a variety of stances, beliefs, lifestyles, and worldviews. Unity is not uniformity. And I certainly do not mean to undermine the culture of Israeli debate, protest, and disagreement – an inseparable part of our DNA as a state that knows how to make decisions together and democratically.

But we must not for a moment be confused, and allow divisiveness and factionalism to rule over us. Because our enemies don't hesitate for a moment.

If we don't listen to each other, if we don't share each other's pain, if we don't understand each other – despite our disagreements. If we turn into communities and camps that no longer remember what connects them – we might lose not only our unity as a people, but also our unity as a nation. We must remember at all times: Israeli unity – rare, courageous, beautiful – that we saw in the past half-year, both on the frontline and in the home front, is our true character.

And the third foundation is the foundation of faith, spirit, and hope. The deep faith in the righteousness of our path, the spirit of fighting for a better future, and the clear knowledge that hope will prevail. The story of Deputy Commander of the legendary 188th Barak Brigade in the Yom Kippur War - Colonel Meir Har-Zion - is a shining example of this.

Meir - prisoner number 78524 from Auschwitz-Birkenau, and later a partisan - lost his entire family in the Holocaust. After World War II, he fulfilled the vow he made while in the footsteps of death: he immigrated to Israel, was one of the founders of Kibbutz Netzarim, and became a commander in the IDF. Addressing the soldiers amidst the battles of the Yom Kippur War, facing them directly, Meir said to them: "I started fighting before you were born. Four wars in this land, and a world war in Europe. The most terrible was in Europe. They took my parents, all of my family, without the chance to defend, to resist, to cry out. I haven't seen them since then. If you ask what a man my age is doing here? Here's your answer. I fight, boys. I fight unwaveringly, so that what happened to my generation's sons – won't happen again." That's what he said.

This faith in the justness of our path is the source of our people's fighting spirit. A spirit of fighting for the sake of hope, for the sake of the future, for the sake of building in our homeland. And for the sake of peace within us and with our neighbors. This fighting spirit belongs to the survivors of the Holocaust, and to the warriors of the Israel Defense Forces. It's the fighting spirit of this generation – of the residents of the Western Negev and the North, and of the entire Israeli society - on the front line and home front.

And this fighting spirit – for the future and hope – that I was moved to see in the kibbutz Haggadah of my friends from Kibbutz Be'eri, since the early days of the state, they wrote: "And let us not forget, that only by their merit, and by the merit of all the house of Israel – have we reached peace, and that for their sake, and for the sake of establishing a beacon for the remnant of Israel – we are fighting now. We will stand firm in our place, no evil spirit will move us. Do not fear, do not be sad, do not extinguish the burning fire!"

Our beloved Holocaust survivors - you are our eternal heroes. Your legacy is a legacy of resilience, of pride, of hope. You are the source of my unwavering belief that our people can overcome anything. Everything!

We will continue to plant, to build and to rebuild, we will keep the eternal flame, we will continue to produce new generations, as you have done – in the name of the past and for the sake of the future, and we will prove to the whole world that the eternal people is here – forever. Am Yisrael Chai!

May the memory of our millions of brothers and sisters who were murdered in the Holocaust by the Nazis and their collaborators be blessed, and engraved on the heart of the nation for generations to come.