Yesterday as I drove down the mountain to Spartanburg, I heard the special BBC coverage of the release of the 20 Israeli hostages still living, the ones held in Gaza for over 2 years. I have not spent the last 2 years consumed by worry about those hostages. I have tried not to spend time imagining what they're going through--the bit that I did know made me sure that it's been a brutalizing experience, and I don't want terrorists inhabiting my brain in that way.
When I was 8, I had no idea what Patty Hearst was going through. I worried about being snatched away from my family, and this was a time before that fear was widespread. Later, with the hostages in Iran, I wondered more about logistics than the possible abuses. Did they live at the embassy? Did they have books to read? As a young woman, I wondered about the other women: did they have enough tampons? I also wondered who was doing the cooking and cleaning. And of course, as the days turned into months and years, I wondered how this would all end.
Yesterday as I listened to the BBC coverage, I thought about how hard it will be for these former hostages to be reintegrated into Israeli society. Of course I hope that it won't be. Some people are better at turning ghastly experiences into forces for good in the world. But many more people don't have those coping skills.
Later in the day my spouse texted me: "Peace treaty signed!" As we relaxed on the deck in the late afternoon, we talked about our hopes and hesitations. As I said in previous posts, we've been alive for a long time now, and we've seen past presidents create peace treaties or peace frameworks, only to have them crumble into pieces in a very short time.
But we both agreed that it was wonderful to feel hopeful, even if it's a guarded hope. I will say that if this peace is still holding in a year, I'd be willing to say that various folks deserve the Nobel Peace Prize.
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