The Strength of the Hostages Defies Comprehension
After 738 days in Hamas tunnels, their survival is a lesson in the human will to live.
I have a feeling I’m not the only one who woke up early Monday to the miraculous news of the final 20 living hostages returning safely home to Israel. I was up at 4 AM, light as a feather. It’s like my body knew.
Somehow, against all odds, Donald Trump brokered a ceasefire and hostage release deal. The same man who once stared directly at a solar eclipse and suggested bleach could fight COVID has now freed the 20 remaining living hostages from two years in Hamas captivity. You honestly can’t make this stuff up.
We often hear the phrase, “You don’t negotiate with terrorists.” Well, tell that to Jared Kushner. How in the actual hell did he negotiate face-to-face with Hamas to pull this off? Like, did he and Steve Witkoff show up with laminated charts and PowerPoint slides? Did he open with an icebreaker? Did he bring snacks? #Respect
There was an Instagram post I saw from Amanda Markowitz that stopped me in my tracks. It said:
Today is Day 738.
7+3+8 = 18
18. The number that means chai, life, in Judaism. A number that embodies life, blessing, and hope.
The poetic arc can be felt.
Divine timing was also on the side of Noa Argamani, whose birthday fell on the day of the release. She reunited with her partner Avinatan Or, who spent two full years in total isolation, never meeting any other hostages until his return.
There are so many things I’m thinking about.
I’m thinking again about Rachel Goldberg-Polin, who manages to keep showing up for the hostages, despite her son, Hersh, being murdered last year in the tunnels. In her latest speech, she said, “There is a time to sob, and there is a time to dance, and we have to do both right now.”
I think about how strong these people are. How their survival defies every law of reason. Think back to your lowest moments. Now magnify that times infinity. It was hard enough for most people to stay sane during COVID lockdowns. People started going stir-crazy after months of banana bread and taking Zoom calls in isolation. We were all largely confined to our homes for two years, and that was pretty bad. Now those problems are a luxury compared to being confined to a Hamas terror dungeon for two years. How does one survive two years with no external stimulation, communication, or food other than a stale piece of Pita a day? I truly don’t comprehend how it’s possible to not only survive being in the Hamas tunnels for two years with decrepit living conditions but also the mental fortitude needed to not lose your sanity.
I have so many questions.
What is it like to spend two years of your life in a tunnel 150 ft underground?
What happens to your body when you barely move for two years? Do your legs forget they belong to you? Do you start to feel like you’re floating outside of yourself, watching a body that no longer feels like your own?
I can’t begin to fathom the kind of strength it takes to endure that. To breathe the same putrid air every day. To live without sunlight, without sanitation, without any certainty that you’ll ever make it out. No space to stretch your arms without hitting a wall.
How do you measure time when the days all blur into one endless night?
How do you know when to sleep when all there is is darkness? Or do you constantly sleep just to make time disappear faster and numb the pain? Then again, it must be hard to sleep when the air feels wet and the ground is alive with worms and sewage creatures.
At a certain point, do you start hallucinating?
What happens when you go two years without real conversation? When you finally speak again, does your own voice sound strange to you?
It must’ve smelled like the most rancid swamp down there. The human waste, mold, dirt floors and walls. No real showering in two years.
I could go on. It sounds like the most deranged nightmare.
***
We’re still waiting for Hamas to return the remains of the 24 murdered hostages because of course, they’ve already violated the terms of the agreement. That’s who they are.
Back in the U.S., the “Ceasefire Now” crowd is suddenly quiet. You’d think they’d be celebrating, right? They got exactly what they asked for. But I guess when your whole worldview is Team Palestine vs. Team Israel, it kinda ruins the vibe to admit the ceasefire wasn’t inspired by protest signs, but by Israelis marching for peace and the release of hostages. None of this is surprising.
Meanwhile, Hamas is back to their bull-sh*t, killing 33 of their own people accused of treason—but hey, at least it’s not Israel doing it, right? Priorities! Gaza could receive a billion-dollar aid package, and the internet would still call it “Western imperialist crumbs.” And, of course, this crowd is extra salty that the whole deal was brokered by Trump. Life is messy that way.
On the side of the hostages, though, there’s gratitude and joy. If these past few years have taught us anything, it’s to embrace the complexity of life and not overthink a good thing.
For two years, the world has lived in the long shadow of October 7. Now, for the first time, we’re waking up in a post–October 7 world. And it’s a beautiful feeling.