The hostages came home, and we slowly entered a week of overflowing emotion — laughter that burst out uninvited, tears that came without warning. We held our breath. We held each other. We watched video after video and wept as if our own family members were being freed.

And in a strange and wondrous way, they really were.

We have always known we are a small people in a vast world. But on October 7, we were reminded that our hearts are bound together, thread by shining thread.

Now, as their faces reappear and their voices fill the air, so many of us — Jews and those who love us — are breathing again. Truly breathing. The tightness in our chests has eased. The silent fear that more would die before they could be freed has slipped away like a long night giving way to dawn.

Over and over again, through tears of joy, I heard the same blessing whispered, shouted, sung:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה׳ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם שֶׁהֶחֱיָנוּ וְקִיְּמָנוּ וְהִגִיעָנוּ לַזְּמַן הַזֶּה

“Blessed are You, Eternal One, who has given us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this moment.”

We thank God not only for being Present but also for sustaining us — every single day, even the hard ones. The lonely ones. The terrible ones.

Why? Are we naïve, blind optimists? No. It is that word — sustained — which holds us. It speaks of faith, resilience, hope. It reminds us that life can be breathtakingly beautiful and unbearably painful — all in the same day.

For more than eleven years, I have written this blog — rejoicing, mourning, and praying alongside thousands of souls I have never met. And today, from my faraway American home, my heart sings with the families, friends, and former hostages across Israel.

And while I sing I also weep for those whose sons and daughters will never come home.

And yes, if you must ask, I weep for the people of Gaza — their cities turned to dust, their families broken, their children starving, their homes rubble. Nothing about war is good. No one wins. Everyone bleeds. Everyone grieves.

Today, I pray for them all — for all of us.

May the Eternal Presence spread Her wings wide enough to shelter every aching heart.

Every one of us.