Edan, Pesach Sheni & 2 Blue Passports

Edan Alexander is home.

After 584 days in Hamas captivity, he walked out of Gaza and into the arms of his family. Alive. Free. Held.

His return is a miracle. His life matters. His story should be told with joy.
And still—there are 58 hostages who are not home.

Edan’s American passport helped save his life. His dual citizenship gave him a pathway to freedom that most of the remaining hostages simply don’t have. He was the final living hostage with US citizenship. The rest of the (up to) 24 living captives don’t have that second blue passport. 

Yesterday was Pesach Sheni—the second Passover. For those who couldn’t make it the first time, it’s a sacred reminder: no one should be left behind. And yet here we are, 584 days since October 7, and 58 human beings are still buried beneath the world’s selective memory. They didn’t get their first chance at freedom. They didn’t get their second.

It happens to also be Jewish American Heritage Month—a time to celebrate the layered beauty of being Jewish and American. I am a Jewish American-Israeli. Like Edan. And I feel all of those layers in my bones. I feel pride in the strength of our communities, our advocacy, our global reach.

But when I look at who is still missing, still trapped, still waiting—I feel the weight of how those same identities can create hierarchies of urgency.

Edan’s release forces me to reckon with what dual citizenship really means—because in this case, it meant life. It shows us that it can be the difference between being brought home… or not. And that’s not okay.

Would the world have remembered him if his name weren’t printed in English on a State Department list?
It’s not that he mattered more.
It’s that his citizenship made him matter more to the people with power.
And that is a brutal thing to sit with.

I truly believe that part of what makes our messy, loving, resilient culture work is the belief that if, God forbid, something awful happens—we will be brought home.

I remember sitting in front of the TV in 2011, watching Gilad Shalit return after over five years in Hamas captivity. We watched every shaky, breathless moment of him be handed over to the IDF. We cried. We held each other. We exhaled as a nation. And even though it took far too long, that missing part of us came home.

That moment stitched something into our collective identity—a fragile but powerful sense of safety:
If it were me, they would bring me home.

Yes, over a thousand terrorists with blood on their hands were exchanged for Gilad Shalit, a heavy price to pay, but I believe an even heavier price is having a nation of millions of Jews who no longer trust their leaders to keep them safe at all. This is the Jewish state. The verypurpose of its existence is to keep us safe.

Every Israeli deserves to feel that in their bones. That their life is worth fighting for. That they won’t be forgotten. That no matter what—it’s a given, not a question: you will come home.

So yes—Edan is home. Thank God.
But 58 are not.

And until they are:
We are not done.
We are not whole.
We are not free.

Bring them all home.