A time to sob, and to dance: Why does the joy of the hostage release feel so painful?

Israelis react as they watch the release of Israeli hostages by Hamas during a live broadcast in Tel Aviv, Israel, on Oct. 13. Photo by Kobi Wolf/Bloomberg/Getty Images

For 737 days, the people of Israel — and Jews around the world — hoped and prayed for the moments of bliss we witnessed on Monday, as the last living hostages returned from Gaza and reunited with their families and their nation.

For just over two years, many of us found that the joys of life could not feel whole. On holidays, at weddings and on vacations, there was an aching sense that until the hostages returned, it would be impossible to experience pure, unfiltered happiness.

Yet now that this long-awaited moment is here, our joy is tinged with sadness.

We feel that sadness because we know that it will take years for the hostages to recover from the unfathomable cruelty they endured in Gaza, and because perhaps they could have come home sooner. We feel it because 42 of the 251 hostages taken by Hamas on Oct. 7, 2023, were killed in captivity. Hamas has so far failed to return the remains of many of those hostages, robbing their families of the closure they so desperately need.

Our joy is mixed with profound sadness because we lost two years to a war that should never have started — a war that was launched in the name of resistance and liberation, yet has ended with the total destruction of Gaza. That was precisely what Hamas wanted: to commit such a horrific massacre that Israel would react with unprecedented force, resulting in global condemnation and Israel’s isolation.

Our joy this week is also tainted by anger, because Hamas’s Oct. 7 onslaught was entirely preventable, as many Israeli investigations have made painfully clear. We feel that anger because Hamas is still in control of Gaza. We know that true peace is nowhere near.

There is also an overwhelming sense that all this devastation could have been avoided, had Israel heeded ample warnings of plans for an invasion by terrorists from Gaza — who had made clear for years their desire to annihilate Israel — and made serious military plans to combat it.

These joyous days are mixed with sorrow for these reasons, and so many more. We are still grieving the nearly 1,200 lives that were so violently extinguished by Hamas’s massacre. And we grieve, also, for the countless others whose lives were forever changed by the horrors of that day — those who were wounded, lost their lives during the war in Gaza, and lost loved ones and beloved communities.

We are still mourning an Israel that will never again be the Israel it was: a place where Jewish families did not fear being hunted down and slaughtered in their homes. And we are mourning a world that is not what we thought it was.

For many in the diaspora who feel close to Israel, everything changed after Oct. 7. We lost friendships, and sometimes entire communities. We felt betrayed by professions that once gave us a sense of belonging.

We will not forget the protests against Israel that erupted on city streets and college campuses on Oct. 8, 2023, when dead bodies still littered the streets of southern Israel. Nor will we forget the many people who praised Hamas’s massacre as noble resistance.

We will always carry with us the memory of posters bearing hostages’ faces being torn down in American and European cities by people who described them as “Zionist propaganda” or worse. We will never forget the images of the atrocities those activists denied or justified.

As an independent journalist who reported from Israel for dozens of American newspapers and magazines for more than a decade, I have felt betrayed by the profession I belonged to until 2023.

This week I have watched — no longer in shock, but in despair — as many news organizations drew a false equivalence between Hamas’s release of 20 hostages and Israel’s release of nearly 2,000 Palestinian security prisoners, including 250 who were serving life sentences. The BBC, for example, ran an emotional segment featuring the sister of a released Palestinian prisoner, weeping because he will be deported rather than return home; the segment fails to mention that her brother was convicted in connection to a suicide bombing that killed four people. Then there are the Al Jazeera English stories describing Palestinian prisoners as “captives.”

And it’s not just the hostage release. CNN’s Christiane Amanpour was made to apologize after saying on-air that the Israeli hostages in Gaza were “probably being treated better than the average Gazan” during the war.

Even as this war comes to an end, we are seeing the same distortions of truth that have characterized public conversations about this war from the very beginning. Their persistence suggests the relief we hoped to feel at this point remains far off.

Too many institutions I once held in esteem have fallen prey to those distortions. There’s the literary world, which has broadly censored Jewish authors and boycotted Israeli cultural institutions; women’s rights organizations, such as U.N. Women, which took months to condemn Hamas’s use of sexual violence on Oct. 7, or the others that never did; the medical field, which has seen an alarming rise in antisemitism; and universities, where the surge in antisemitism has been fueled by some professors who seem to have deliberately indoctrinated students into believing that Israel’s very existence is a crime.

Yet one of the most vital lessons from this chapter in our people’s history is that we cannot allow the hatred of our enemies to define us, or to shake our conviction in what we know to be true.

As the awe-inspiring Rachel Goldberg-Polin, mother of the murdered hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin, so aptly explained at a rally in Jerusalem two nights before the living hostages returned: “There is a time to sob, and there is a time to dance, and we have to do both right now.”

Sob and dance we will. Perhaps for years to come.