By Evan Bernstein

When the last living hostages from October 7 finally arrived home the morning of October 13, I remember the palpable change in my body. I was sitting at my kitchen table, scrolling through the news updates, and suddenly everything stopped.

For the first time in months, I let myself exhale. That deep, aching breath – the kind you don’t realize you’ve been holding – wasn’t mine alone. It swept through our community like a wave. Together, we had lived in a suspended state: grief, rage, fear, and hope all tangled into one. Now, at last, families are reunited. That relief was real. It was necessary. It was sacred.
 

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