After the celebrations fade into the background

A moment we have all waited for, since October 7, 2023. The return of the hostages, living and deceased. The opportunity for the last ones to be reunited with their loved ones; the solace for families aching to bury their beloved. It has arrived and smiles and tears of joy were rightfully exhibited by Israelis throughout the country. As I sit here, in the Netherlands, I feel a sense of joy as well as relief. My hope is that Hostages Square will soon become a regular square again like any other. In an odd way, I have felt incomplete for the last two years and many Israelis seem to have experienced the same. Yet, I cannot dispel the nagging thought that this is too easy. For one, not all of the hostages have returned home. It is too soon to remove pins, bracelets, and tags. Secondly, I am referring to the recovery of the living hostages. Their return brings us and their families joy, yet for them it is only the beginning. In many ways, it will probably be a lifelong struggle, the consequence of the damage inflicted by Hamas. It brings me to an example from the past and a part of my family history.

POWs in the Pacific

I own a book that speaks to me very much and I have returned to it these days and perused several of its passages. Published in 1994 by Gavan Daws, its title is Prisoners of the Japanese. It follows the captivity of Allied prisoners of war and the nightmares they endured in Japanese prisoner camps. Daws explains that the Japanese adhered to the formal code of bushido. This code instills the values of soldierly correctness and conveys the importance of the right attitudes to duty in a warrior’s life and death. However, bushido was not applied in the case of Allied POWs, as Japanese camp guards believed that they deserved no mercy, no restraint. In fact, they held them in contempt as they could not understand that POWs were capable of bearing the “shame of defeat.” Therefore, they treated them accordingly.

The book describes horrifying treatment of Allied POWs at the hands of the Japanese and provides details of the experiences of American, British, Australian, and Dutch prisoners. Think of starvation and slave labor; torture and beheadings; severe malnourishment and the concomitant exposure to all kinds of tropical diseases – one consequence was the prevalence of such diseases as beriberi or tropical ulcers; imagine standing for hours on end at attention in the burning sun or being subjected to regular beatings. This was not exceptional, it was routine.

Daws explains that the Japanese moved their POWs around. After all, they were a forced labor force and could be used as a potential bargaining chip. Many POWs were moved back to Japan near the end of the war, being crammed into ships, where they suffocated and starved. These spaces were teeming with disease, and Daws provides one example of an American POW who survived a ten-day journey on half a canteen of water – the only liquid provided. Thousands would not survive trips on these so-called “hellships” and on many occasions, the transports were bombed and torpedoed by the Allies, as the Japanese did not mark the ships.

Another important aspect described at length is the POWs’ yearning for home, that idyllic oasis of peace and normalcy that they wished to return to. But, sadly, upon return, the reality of home was different from the dream that had aided them to endure the brutal treatment to which they had been subjected. Families and neighbors had not experienced what they had, and many struggled to reconnect with body and soul. In one tragic example, Daws describes how eight Americans from the Philippines had made a pact after the war that they would commit suicide if they failed to adjust to life back in the US. By 1947, six of them had carried out their promise.

Though most would readjust in time and do what everyone else did – get married, start a family, hold a steady job, and engage in activities like the rest of society – Daws points out that this was mostly an imitation. They could never again be “normal.” Examples could be hair-triggered touchiness or rage in restaurants when certain patrons failed to clean their plates; hoarding cigarettes and months’ worth of provisions at home; standing in line at the bank could be a nightmare or taking orders on the job; an aversion to loud noises. Many succeeded in keeping their peculiar habits concealed, but they remained with them. This brings me to my own family history.

My mother’s uncle

In previous posts, I have referred to my paternal family history, Iraqi Jews who were taken in by the state of Israel. On my mother’s side, my family is Dutch. My mother converted to Judaism upon meeting my father in Israel, the result of written correspondence started via an advertisement in the Jerusalem Post. She is the daughter of a Dutch Protestant father who became an atheist in adult life and a mother of Dutch East Indies descent – half Dutch, half native – who converted to Catholicism during the Second World War after meeting a friendly chaplain. My grandmother’s father was of Dutch-Jewish descent. My maternal grandfather was a Navy man and met my grandmother while he was stationed in the Dutch East Indies, before the war. They married and were separated from each other after the Japanese invasion of the Dutch East Indies. My grandmother came from a large family, and many of her brothers served in the Dutch army. Some of them were imprisoned by the Japanese.

My mother has two uncles who were imprisoned by the Japanese. One was eventually decapitated, after he had been psychologically tortured for days. They would tell him in the morning that he would be executed the next day, but then nothing happened. The guards did that for a couple of days, until they finally carried out their promise, when he no longer expected it to happen. Her other uncle was eventually brought back to Japan on one of the earlier described “hellships.” He would survive the war and later share that he had witnessed the mushroom cloud in the distance from one of the atomic bombs.

My mother describes him as a jolly fellow. My grandmother shared that he loved the jungle, but after the war, he would move to the Netherlands along with the rest of my maternal family members. Upon arrival, many white Dutchmen were surprised to meet their fellow “Indische” compatriots. They spoke Dutch, but had darker skin. Less friendly treatment occurred as well. While non-Jewish Dutchmen had suffered under Nazi occupation, mostly in the final two years of the war, some tried to compare their suffering by stating that the “Indische” Dutch at least had good weather – truly, one of the most ridiculous comments to make. But my grandmother and her family considered themselves Dutch and adjusted to the colder climate and the flat lands, as much as they could.

My mother’s uncle did what Gavan Daws described in his book. He reconnected with his wife, they raised a family in the province of Noord-Brabant because the climate was less harsh, and he worked in a factory his entire working life. Family, steady job, it ticked the boxes of normalcy. He was still a jolly, outgoing fellow who was loved by his coworkers. My mother said that they would regularly visit him and his family, and he would always try to entertain the children and make them smile. But already then, she would notice things. Sometimes, her uncle would suddenly become silent and retreat. When that happened, the adults knew that he needed some space.

He lived his life in the Netherlands and I have seen several pictures of him in family photo albums. Unfortunately, I never had the privilege of meeting him. But my mother describes that his mental state deteriorated as he grew older. Suddenly, nightmares started to become more frequent; flashbacks from his time in captivity occurred more often; sometimes, flashbacks and reality started to blend, and, at one point, he was horrified as he mistook his wife for a Japanese soldier – nothing happened, luckily. But when this started to happen, his family could no longer offer him the support he needed. He was brought to a home run by Catholic nurses, who had no idea how to treat his war trauma. When my grandmother visited him, she was heartbroken. He spent the last days of his life in his room, medicated. Decades later, the war claimed another casualty.

Hostages today

We have all seen the remarkable spirit of freed hostages as they partook in countless protests for the release of their fellow hostages still languishing in Gaza. But after the last ones have finally returned home, that does not mean that their ordeal has ended. I wish it would be over, but when I think of my mother’s uncle, I think of what they might be experiencing. Just as Allied POWs became food hoarders because of starvation, it would not surprise me if they too would exhibit this type of behavior; that a hostage will one day yell at a fellow diner in a local restaurant, if the latter fails to clean his plate; that just as Allied POWs had a special bond and understood each other, the hostages have the same; that years of normalcy could be disrupted years from now, as they too will suddenly be bothered by nightmares and flashbacks, just as happened to my mother’s uncle.

There are differences. The state of mental healthcare in Israel is much better than what was offered to my mother’s uncle fifty years ago in the Netherlands. In the case of the hostages, civilians were subjected to Hamas’ harsh treatment and torture, too – men, women, children, the elderly – which adds another gruesome dimension. When I saw Evyatar David’s emaciated frame, it reminded me of the pictures of Allied POWs and it makes me think of the horrors my mother’s uncle endured and could never share with his family.

Regardless of the criticism and debate about the deal that has been struck, for me the most important aspect remains the release of all the remaining hostages. Now that all the living hostages have returned, they can begin the long process of healing, a process that will probably last a lifetime. I hope that they will enjoy the warm embrace of their family and friends again; that the state of Israel will provide all the necessary mental health support they need; that they will be treated with sympathy, if they exhibit peculiar habits or mood swings in public; that their loved ones will be supported with the proper guidance as well; that they may enjoy good lives and reclaim their happiness, slowly but surely.

May the healing finally begin.