The World Was A Witness
Yesterday, like the rest of Israel and much of the world, I sat with tears streaming down my face as Emily Damari, Romi Gonen, and Doron Steinbrecher returned home. Watching them step back into the open arms of their mothers, their families, and, indeed, the entire nation was a moment of collective relief. The country held its breath, waiting anxiously for confirmation that they were safely within Israel’s borders, no longer hostages but finally home.
This was not a simple exchange. In Israel, every such deal becomes a national debate, with opinions as diverse as our population. Social media is filled with dissertations on whether such exchanges are justified, whether the price is too high, and what precedent we set, weighed against the fundamental and urgent need to bring every hostage home immediately, safe and sound in mind and body. We cannot afford to wait another second. These debates are important, and the complexities of the situation cannot be overstated.
Yet, amidst the debates and discussions, there was a moment that transcended politics. It was a moment that illuminated something deeper, a stark difference in how lives are valued and how people are treated, even in the most difficult circumstances.
What truly struck me, and what I cannot shake, was the moment of their release.
As the cameras followed the process, the world saw the mob that had gathered in Gaza City, a chaotic crowd surrounding the Red Cross vans designated to transport the hostages. The anchors described how former hostages had spoken of this moment, the drive to the Red Cross vehicles, as one of the most harrowing parts of their ordeal, certain that it was all a sham and that they were on their way to be lynched.
The shock in the Israeli anchor’s voice when they suddenly understood that the exchange was happening amidst a screaming, chaotic mob was palpable. It was not enough for these heroic women to endure captivity, under conditions we cannot even begin to fathom; their release became a public spectacle, one seemingly designed to terrify and humiliate them in their final moments as hostages.
Contrast that with what awaited them in Israel. As the women crossed into our borders, screens were put up to shield them from the public eye. Their privacy was preserved, their dignity respected. In those small, deliberate acts of care, there was an unmistakable recognition of their humanity, a collective effort to help them begin to heal after unimaginable trauma.
That moment laid bare the difference between two worldviews. The principles of dignity, privacy, respect, and humanity are not just lofty ideals; they shape how societies respond, even in moments of profound pain and conflict. Where one side used fear and humiliation, the other sought to protect and restore. Where one dehumanized people into mere tools for propaganda, the other worked to restore their humanity and begin the long process of healing what was broken.
Perhaps the most staggering aspect of all was how this moment of cruelty was carried out for the entire world to see. The world witnessed these women being used as pawns, paraded as propaganda, and stripped of their dignity in their final moments under captivity. The spectacle of their release was not hidden; it was a deliberate, calculated display of cruelty. The world did not just witness the massacre that began this tragedy, it also watched as their captors orchestrated one final act of terror, turning their freedom into a grotesque performance. How can such blatant acts of dehumanization be so visible, yet so often dismissed or ignored by those who should be outraged?
To me, those few seconds of footage captured more than just a hostage release. They captured a profound choice, about who we are, what we stand for, and how we respond, even in the face of cruelty. This is not about political sides or endless debates; it is about remembering the humanity at the center of every conflict and every resolution.
It is a reminder that the choices we make, especially in the hardest moments, define us.