Hatikvah

A Moment Of Real Hope

Hey, beloved tribe.

What a moment.

There are no words for how surreal it feels to have a deal for the release of every remaining hostage inked and on the table.

It was the one thing everyone said would never, ever happen. Among the most formidably informed sources I trust, it was considered a truism. The hostages are the only leverage Hamas has, I heard over and over. They might release most of them in time but they will never release them all.

That constantly-recited conventional wisdom is what drove my moral acceptance of a Gaza takeover by Israel. If it was true that Hamas would never surrender, never disarm, and never release every hostage, then I thought Israel should do anything rather than let it remain in power.

But Hamas was facing an unprecedented set of pressures that included not just the heedless and ruthless Trump (who would never be troubled by any moral scruples or bigger-picture misgivings while gaming his way to wealth and adulation) but strong-arming by Qatar, Turkey, Egypt, the protests in Gaza, and very effective anti-Hamas militias in the Strip, who are armed and backed by Israel. And the upshot is that, contrary to long-standing popular belief, the release of all hostages up front has been negotiated and signed.

I’ve read a lot of doubts and misgivings related to this deal, and I have my own, and I can and will get into that another day, maybe even as soon as tomorrow.

But this is a moment to rejoice.

We have been promised that our sons and daughters are coming back to us.

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I remember so vividly how hard it was to feel celebratory at this time last October. It was a new year, but there was no sense of turning a corner, no feeling of renewal at all. We were deep in the mire and grief of a righteous war waged at terrible cost to the innocents on both sides.

I remember sitting in our local sukkah, feeling appreciation for the beauty of the season, the hanging gourds and the branches overhead and the quality of light in the late afternoon sky, but over the whole thing was a wash of sadness I couldn’t shake off, even momentarily.

This year — though I feel afraid to say it — seems different. It feels different. The golden air is something I feel I can access and internalize. The special light feels like something I can trust.

There’s a gorgeous series of Sukkot poems over in JUDITH Magazine today, by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat. As I was typing them earlier this week, I could feel the emotions they were evoking on a bone-deep level. Here is the opening of the first:

From the heights of Yom Kippur we fall
into the embrace of a world that shakes,
structures so airy and light
they don’t hide the autumn gold
of Berkshire hills, the white press of sky.
Funny to think of dwelling in this house:

hardly enough wall to call it a house,
these two-by-fours we hope won’t fall,
roof of cornstalks open to the sky
rattling when the wind makes them shake.
Around me the trees are strung tinsel-gold.
I inhabit bright blocks of light.

After these holidays my soul feels light.
I asked to dwell in God’s house
all the days of my life; received gold
fields shorn to stubble, apples fallen
sweet when the trunk gets a shake.
Always perfect, always changing, the sky

rolls back day before darkness, sky
over this little house bedecked with light.
I gather willow, myrtle, palm; shake
them clasped with etrog, the house
for that tiny nugget of tart fall
wrapped in nubbly fragrant gold.

Yes, I share the fear of those who say, about the release of every remaining hostage, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Never before in my life have I wanted, let alone so badly, to just skip a weekend and get to Monday already.

It is so easy to imagine Hamas saying they can’t find at least a few hostages, whether or not that’s true.

And if hostages remain in Gaza and Hamas won’t disarm or surrender or relinquish their rule in Gaza and yet Israel’s hands remain tied, it will be soul-crushing.

I can imagine that happening as easily as anyone.

But I’m not going to go there yet. I’m going to acknowledge that it’s a possibility and still hold onto this tidal wave of hope as hard as I possibly can. I’m going to have dinner in our local sukkah tonight and I’m going to rejoice with my Jewish community that hostages are coming home.

Just as an aside, it’s impossible not to notice the utter silence of the “Ceasefire Now!” crowd. The “End The Genocide” crowd. Isn’t a ceasefire and Israeli withdrawal what they’ve spent two eternal years demanding at top volume? So here we are, with actual Palestinians and Israelis dancing in ecstasy, and the entire Arab world on board, with exactly that outcome.

And shocker: they have nothing to say.

Weren’t the Israelis thought to be hellbent on continuing this “genocide” under any pretext and annexing Gaza as their ultimate endgame?

Isn’t it strange how — in the wake of a deal demanding their withdrawal and assuring the end of this war — the Israelis are screaming with joy and the western progressive pro-Palestinian camp is mute?

Where are all the college kids weeping with grief for the plight of Gazans?

Where are Mark Ruffalo, Susan Sarandon, and Roger Waters?

Where is Rashida Tlaib? Where is Greta Thunberg?

Where is the whole “ceasefire now” cottage industry when a ceasefire has been achieved?

What are they going to do with themselves now that their high-octane source of virtue porn has been taken away? It seems the whole circle jerk falls apart without a “genocide” in Israel serving as their Viagra.

Honestly, it seems to me that the only people who have worse friends than the Jews are the Palestinians. Their leaders never stop trying to have their children killed. Their western advocates seem, in their own way, equally committed to this outcome, consciously or not.

But let’s celebrate the reprieve from war and the return of our hostages now. They’re worth all the sickening drivel about Trump deserving a Nobel; they’re worth all the uncertainty about the future. They’re worth everything.

I’ll be back with you tomorrow.

Chag sameach.

Am Yisrael Chai.