For two long and impossible years, the families of the hostages have lived in an unprecedented reality: a daily, relentless struggle to bring back the bodies of their loved ones. A struggle that became the only light in the darkness, the only meaning within the pain.
They set up tents, led protests, spoke into microphones, met with politicians, and never gave up for a moment. This struggle became their way of staying connected to their loved ones, of continuing to be their parents, their children, their partners – even when they were no longer alive.
Now, following the anticipated deal, everything is about to change. The bodies will return, and the struggle that kept them alive for two years will end. And then the real, terrible task will begin: transitioning to mourning.
When the struggle keeps you going
For two years, these families lived in a kind of liminal state – neither life nor death. They knew the terrible truth but still had a reason to wake up in the morning. The struggle gave them a role, a purpose, and a tiny sense of control in a reality completely devoid of control. As long as the struggle continued, they could remain in an active role – fighters, defenders, doers. They didn’t have to confront the finality.
However, when the bodies return, reality will crash down on them with its full weight. There will be nothing left to shout about, no one to appeal to, and nothing to fight for. Only pure, direct, unmediated pain. They will have to transition from the identity of “fighters” to the identity of “mourners.” This transition is perhaps one of the hardest a person can undergo.
The mourning that waited two years
In the normal world, mourning begins when someone passes away. There’s shiva (seven days), shloshim (thirty days), and a year. There’s a path, difficult and exhausting, but it exists. But the hostages’ families weren’t granted this privilege. They couldn’t mourn because they were too busy trying to bring them back. They postponed the pain and froze it because there was something more urgent to do.
Now, when they finally sit down for shiva, they will have to confront not only the pain of loss but also the pain of living in suspension for two years. With the guilt: “Did I do enough?” “Maybe if I had acted differently?” With the frustration and anger at systems that failed to bring them back in time.
And with the loneliness that will come when the crowd that stood by their side in the struggle disperses, leaving only the quiet house and the loved one who is no longer there.
Our responsibility as a society
We, as a society, as an organization that accompanies bereaved families, know: this transition will be one of the most difficult moments for these families. And they cannot do it alone.
They will need professional, long-term psychological support: Not just during shiva, not just during shloshim. For months and years they will need to learn anew how to live with this grief. How to be family members to each other again when the family unit has been broken. How to release the identity of “the fighter” and allow themselves to be vulnerable and broken.
They will need us to be there – not just in peak moments, not just in the media, but in the gray everyday. When the house is too quiet. When no one calls anymore. When life goes on but doesn’t feel like life.
I am appealing today to the treatment systems, to the relevant government ministries, and to each and every one of us: this transition is critical. We must be prepared with tailored treatment programs, with skilled psychological companions, and with support groups of bereaved families. We must understand that the end of the struggle is not the end of the pain; it is only the beginning of it in its true form.
We, as a society, must not forget. Must not move on. We must remember that these families will need us in the coming months and years more than ever.
Because after the struggle, when the microphones are turned off and the world moves on, the mourning will only begin. We must be there.
The writer serves as CEO of One Family, a national organization for bereaved families and the wounded, which accompanies thousands of families on their journey of mourning and the life that follows.