Hostages are Coming Home, But it Does not Erase the Pain

These are the first hostages to be released. 

I could not help but notice the Bibas boys (top right) with their mother. I burst into tears when I saw them … but then realized that they might not be alive. Hamas continues their terror by not confirming who is dead and who is alive.

For 15 months, we have seen these faces. There are billboards. You can’t walk through the airport without seeing every one of them. We know their names. Romi. Omer. Ariel. Kfir… We feel like we know them. But we don’t.

We don’t know what they’ve been through. Our hearts have ached for 15 months. And then we would forget for a while. We’d go out to eat. Even go to the beach. And then we’d remember and wonder how in the world we can continue life as normal people with so many of our brothers and sisters in captivity only a few miles away.

I am a different person than I was 15 months ago. I’ve seen dead bodies. I’ve seen the evidence of rape. I’ve seen burned corpses. I’ve watched documentaries of young people trying to escape music concerts. I’ve heard the frantic voice texts to parents asking for someone to rescue them. And I’ve heard parents reassure their children that help was on the way, even though they knew it wasn’t. I was one of the few who was able to see the 45 minutes of footage from Hamas body cams. (A decision I question every day.)

I watched a father killed in front of his sons, and the terrorists walk inside to get something to eat out of the refrigerator. I listened as a terrorist called his parents in Gaza from the phone of the woman he just killed, rejoicing. His mother’s only wish: “I wish I could be there with you.” A culture of death.

I am traumatized. And broken. And confused. And feel a little bit of death inside.

And I don’t have family there. I was never taken captive. I was not in Ashkelon on October 7 when Hamas unleashed thousands of rockets on our city as a diversion. My therapist tells me that “emotional injury” or trauma can result from simply being close to traumatic events, just the knowledge that 20 miles from your home, Israelis are in underground captivity. From watching others suffer. But still, whatever I’m going through cannot be compared to what the families of these captives have suffered for over 400 days. And it certainly cannot be compared to what the captives themselves have gone through.

I’m a person of faith. And that faith has sustained me, but it has not blinded me to the pain and suffering that has taken place all around me.

But they’re coming home. There is some semblance of joy. We lost this war on October 7. Our political and military leaders let us down. They were not ready. It never should’ve happened. There must be an accounting.

While we are so happy that the living are coming home, we cannot forget the dead. I’m not quite sure what life will be like once they are all home. But I pray for the captives and their families that they will find healing and a path forward.