In a small country like Israel, the news is never just the news.
It is immediate, intimate, and personal. When something dramatic happens, it’s not happening far away to “someone else.” It happens to you or to someone close to you. It affects you.
The overnight signing of an agreement, apparently bringing the two-year war in Gaza to an end, is a perfect example. This is not just another headline or distant event; it touches nearly everyone. Each person looks at it through their own lens, shaped by their experiences, fears, and hopes.
For the families of the hostages, this agreement is the answer to endless nights of anguish. Their joy must be beyond words. For the bereaved families of soldiers who fought and died to free the hostages, the emotions are certainly more complex.
Families of soldiers are finally able to feel relief
For the soldiers currently fighting in Gaza – or at least for their parents – perhaps there is a breath of relief at the thought that they may soon be able to leave the area, free of wondering from which ruin a sniper might take aim or from where the next RPG might come.
While some of the soldiers would like to continue fighting in Gaza “until the job is complete,” meaning until Hamas is eradicated, others must be sighing deeply, grateful that they will not have to risk their lives there once more.
Then there are the reservists – and their spouses, their children, and their parents. This affects them directly, intensely, especially those serving in Gaza. If the agreement pans out, they will no longer have to put themselves in harm’s way – at least not there, the riskiest place to be.
The reservists can exhale, as can their spouses who have spent countless hours praying, entreating, hoping nothing bad would happen to their loved ones; looking into their children’s eyes, fearful that their father might not come home. It’s a fear rarely spoken aloud, but it never leaves.
And then there are the parents of reservists. They, too, have carried the burden – worrying constantly about their sons and daughters, sometimes more than one, sometimes two, sometimes three or more. The worry is atomic, ever-present.
That worry touched my home. I have three sons and a son-in-law, all in combat units, who have each done close to 300 days – if not more – of reserve duty since October 7, 2023. The worst thoughts occupy your mind, always.
For several months after October 7, all four were in Gaza at the same time. Since then, they’ve been in and out of reserves. Currently, three are in uniform; the fourth has just finished his stint.
One is in Gaza, one is in Syria, one is in and out of Lebanon, and the other was just there. To understand the warped reality we have been living in, consider this: When one of my sons told me his unit would be spending September through December in Syria, I felt relieved. Relieved because in the crazy calculus we’ve come to live by, Syria is safer than Gaza.
These are the stories we have been telling ourselves for nearly two years doing risk assessments. My kid is safer in Syria than in Gaza. And if in Gaza, I’m grateful he’s in Khan Yunis and not Gaza City. Or, as one of my sons reassured me last year, he was in “the safe part of Gaza.”
It’s emotionally draining – exhausting. And it’s comforting to think that this chapter might now be coming to an end.
So many people here have skin in the game, and that shapes how each person perceives this agreement.
The families of the hostages are understandably over the moon. For the bereaved families, I can’t pretend to know what this moment feels like, only that it must reopen emotions the rest of us can scarcely comprehend.
And then there are those whose pain rarely makes headlines: the victims of terror attacks whose perpetrators will be released as part of this deal. For them, this agreement reopens wounds that never truly healed. Their perspective, too, deserves to be heard.
As for me, my own desires – to see my son leave Gaza safely, and that my grandchildren’s fathers never again have to fight there – have inevitably colored how I view what has just transpired.
I am not unique. In Israel, the news is never distant. It is immediate – and for many people tonight, it is closer and more personal than ever.