Will the hostages ever come home?

There are certain stories that just never go away. They don’t get swallowed up by the 24-hour news cycle. They grind away at your soul, drop by drop, day by day, hour by hour.

In Israel, that story looks at you wherever you go.

From the moment you land at Ben Gurion Airport, you’re greeted by images of hostages captured by Hamas ten months ago. All over the country, billboards and posters carry their faces. In the cosmopolitan city of Tel Aviv, you see those faces everywhere, on city streets, on the ocean promenade, on Dizengoff Square, where a circular fountain features photos of hostages, adorned with colorful mementos and personal notes. It feels like an art installation, visible from any cafe or bar that surrounds it.

On a recent Saturday night, I saw the fountain as I walked with some friends to Kaplan Square, to join thousands of Israelis calling to “Bring Them Home,” as they have been doing week after week, month after month.

It’s not just the posters and protests, however, that keep the hostage story alive. The very notion of human beings languishing in a mysterious hell has a way of sticking to one’s consciousness, especially if they’re members of your tribe. Israel is a tiny country. Everyone has a friend or relative or neighbor who has lost someone in a war or terror attack or who knows someone who knows someone who knows a hostage. Even for those who don’t, the images of the victims look all-too familiar. They could be your own family. They look like any Israeli you’re likely to see anywhere in Israel.

When Israelis see the face of a hostage, they can’t help but put themselves in the shoes of a parent or sibling or child or grandparent of that hostage and feel their agony.

Many Israelis remember when the country exploded with joy on October 18, 2011, the day Gilad Shalit was released — in exchange for 1,027 Palestinian prisoners — after being held captive by Hamas for five years and four months. Yes, the price was very high — in retrospect, many say much too high — but on that day, Israelis weren’t thinking of the price. They were thinking about a fellow Israeli who had languished in silent terror for five long years; about a father who never stopped fighting for his son’s release; about those close to Shalit who were tortured by his absence and could now hug him.

Eighteen years after Shalit was taken hostage, 251 Israelis, including women, children and elderly, were abducted on the darkest day in Israeli history. No one knows for sure how many are alive and what state they’re in. After an early hostage-prisoner exchange in November, when 50 hostages were released, it’s believed Hamas is now holding 115 hostages, 74 of whom may still be alive, but I heard from a source that that number may be as low as 40.

The story of Gilad Shalit is instructive, because it helps us feel the transcendent scope of Oct. 7. If the country exploded with joy when one captive was freed, can you imagine what kind of national euphoria would greet the return of all the remaining Gaza hostages? The lingering trauma of Oct. 7 runs so deep in Israel that author and journalist Matti Friedman, in a recent interview, said that “Israelis are still living on Oct. 7th. It’s like Groundhog Day here.”

But if empathy for the hostages permeates much of Israeli society, it’s important not to overlook the cold calculations that have influenced the endless negotiations over their release. 

The big news this week is that there is “cautious optimism” that a ceasefire-hostage deal may finally be reached. But no one is getting overly excited; too many hopes have already been dashed.

The reality is that regardless of the sober lip service given to the cause of the hostages, political and strategic considerations dominate. The Biden administration has a significant interest in preventing an all-out regional war involving Iran, Hezbollah and Israel. It is pushing hard for a ceasefire deal that it believes will help prevent that war. Hamas, on the other hand, would like nothing better than to see a regional war, which would take the focus away from its own war with Israel. It also doesn’t believe Israel will agree to end the war.

Meanwhile, no one is quite sure what is going through the mind of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Is he reluctant to agree to a ceasefire for fear that his far-right partners will bring down his government? Would a ceasefire, which the U.S. would push to make permanent, introduce an unacceptable sting of defeat given that Hamas would still be alive? Does Netanyahu have a personal incentive to become a “winning warrior” to salvage his legacy as Mr. Security after the disaster of Oct. 7? In that vein, is he trying to provoke a winning confrontation with Iran, Israel’s #1 enemy?

Where do the hostages fit in all this? The point is, when you’re so caught up with high-level strategy and political survival, hostages can feel like a sentimental distraction, like a lower priority in a time of war.

But doing everything possible to return the hostages is part of the implicit contract the Jewish state has with its people. The people sacrifice for the state, and the state gives back maximum security and protection. Oct. 7 was a staggering breakdown of that contract. This government now has a huge debt with its people.

So this week is Netanyahu’s moment of truth. His favored tactic of buying himself more time is running out. He knows the majority of the country, including the U.S. and his own defense establishment, support the deal. But he’s holding firm on some demands while giving the impression he’s ready to make a deal. Will he bend a little or dig in? All we know is that if the deal falls through, a very competitive blame game will erupt between him and Hamas.

Of course, none of this offers much hope for the hostages, who have become pawns in a much larger game they know nothing about.

Here in Los Angeles, where I’m writing thousands of miles away from Kaplan Square, amidst all the noise of war and the high drama and bluster of “final” negotiations, my heart cries out for those whose voices we can’t hear.