The Light at the End of the Tunnel

I want to reflect on the beauty of humanity that is so palpable with the return of the living hostages. Like so many others, I joined all people — from every background, every corner of the world — who rejoiced at their return. We welcome home those who survived and continue to wait, to demand, and to pray for the return of the deceased hostages — so that they can have a proper burial and the dignity they deserve. It is important that we remember that it is not over until the last hostage returns to Israel. Only then can every family, and our nation as a whole, have the closure we so deeply deserve.

With that in place, I want to zoom in on some moments that took place this particular week that shook me to the core. One was the return of Alon Ohel to his hometown. Alon Ohel was chained for two years, tortured, starved, and injured — as we all know. I personally prayed for every hostage, but his story moved me in a particular way. When Alon Ohel’s mother cried out for her boy, in such a terrible predicament — alone, chained, injured, starved, beaten, held in a particularly harsh captivity — it was a cry to all Jewish mothers, and really, to all mothers everywhere.

It was a call that many of us responded to. With prayer. With posting his picture. With desperation and solidarity, feeling her pain, and the pain of all the hostages’ mothers begging for the return of their children.

Seeing Alon Ohel come back to his hometown smiling and being received by the local government, not with a handshake but with a hug — a real hug — and a kiss on the cheek, like one that could have come from an uncle, a cousin, or his own father, reminded me of something profound. It reminded me that we are one big family.

And it is something deeply touching — a true example of what makes us who we are. The level of gratitude and happiness he expressed, the graciousness we’ve seen from all the hostages as they return, is a sparkle of light in the darkness. After going through everything they did, not one of them called for revenge, not one spoke words of hatred or violence. They were simply grateful — grateful to be home, grateful to the soldiers, grateful to the people of Israel for demonstrating, for relentlessly asking, and for praying.

The hostages also thanked the soldiers — especially those who gave the ultimate sacrifice, and their families — for the courage and devotion that made their freedom possible. Their love of life and their willingness to give everything for another human being represent the highest expression of humanity.

And truly, it was also the larger family — Jews around the world, and non-Jews with a moral compass who never forgot — who also demanded, prayed, and demonstrated. They too have a small part in that light. They were part of that force, that unbelievable force that helped break those chains.

And despite all the darkness, we have seen light at the end of the tunnel — and I mean that in the most literal way. The light of humanity has shone through in the faces, in the embraces, in the tears, in the words that need no translation. The graciousness of the hostages who come home — their resilience, their gratitude — is something that moves me deeply. They come back not with bitterness, not with vengeance in their hearts, but with love and humility, with thanks to those who prayed, who demonstrated, who never stopped believing. Thanking God above all for a new chance. What a lesson to us all on faith and strength.

This week we also witnessed a miracle — a miracle involving two individuals who went through so much, getting engaged. One was Eliya Cohen, who had been held hostage and was only recently reunited with his beloved Ziv Abud. After all they endured — after the fear, the separation, and the unimaginable pain — he was able to propose to her. That in itself was such a moving, heartwarming moment for us all. To see this couple, once torn apart by tragedy, now standing together, planning to build a life — it is another glass to raise — to love, to faith, to hope.

I want to close with one final thought — a thought inspired by Matan Angrest, also a former hostage and brave soldier. In the darkest moments, he tried to comfort those around him — the brave Tatzpitaniyot, the female soldiers who were kidnapped with him — speaking softly to one of them and saying, “הכול יהיה בסדר,” everything will be okay. Those words, spoken in the face of fear, carried a promise that transcended that moment — and perhaps not only for the Tatzpitaniyot and for him, but for all the Jewish people. We are blessed to witness all these miracles, we see light after so much darkness, we can finally say that he was right. Despite the pain, despite the loss, there is still warmth — the warmth of humanity, of unity, of love. Perhaps, after all, הכול יהיה בסדר.