Before dawn, they gathered on the hills above Ofer Prison mothers clutching scarves, cousins sharing cigarettes, teenagers scanning the road with binoculars. They came for names they hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years. Under the Gaza ceasefire deal, Israel is releasing nearly 2,000 Palestinian prisoners in exchange for the last 20 living Israeli hostages. For Palestinians, this moment is more than political it’s personal. Nearly every family here has someone behind bars. And today, some of them are coming home. But the joy is edged with tension: armored vehicles rolled up the hill at sunrise, drones hummed overhead, and tear gas stung the air after fliers warned that celebrating could mean arrest. This is freedom, but not yet peace.
The list includes 1,700 Palestinians detained from Gaza during the two-year war—many held without charge under emergency laws passed in October 2023. The rest 250 convicted prisoners range from teenagers to men in their sixties, serving sentences for attacks dating back to the 1990s. Among them: Raed Sheikh, a Palestinian police officer sentenced to life for the 2000 killing of two Israeli soldiers; Mahmoud Issa, a Hamas commander imprisoned since 1993 for the murder of a border police officer; and the Shamasneh brothers, convicted of stabbing Israeli hitchhikers during the First Intifada. Israel calls them terrorists. Palestinians call them symbols of resistance. Either way, they are now walking out of Ketziot and Ofer prisons as part of a fragile bargain that hinges on trust neither side fully has.
On the hills overlooking Ofer, coffee cups sat half-finished as families scanned the prison gates. One flier, distributed by Israeli forces and obtained by The Associated Press, read: “You have been warned.” It threatened arrest for anyone supporting “terrorist organizations” a vague phrase that covers much of Palestinian political life. In neighborhoods across the West Bank, similar notices appeared on lampposts and shop windows. Israeli officials say they’re preventing unrest. Palestinians say they’re criminalizing hope. A Palestinian Authority official, speaking anonymously for fear of reprisal, confirmed the warnings are part of a broader effort to suppress public celebration a move that echoes past prisoner releases, when streets filled with flags and chants, only to be met with raids and arrests.
Even as 2,000 names appear on release lists, roughly 1,300 Palestinians from Gaza remain in Israeli custody, according to human rights group Hamoked. Many are held as “unlawful combatants” under wartime decrees that deny them lawyers or court review. Reports of abuse beatings, starvation, exposure are widespread, though Israel insists it follows legal standards. Meanwhile, the most prominent political prisoners, like Marwan Barghouti, remain behind bars. Their absence is felt deeply: Barghouti is seen by many as the heir to Mahmoud Abbas, and his continued imprisonment signals that Israel isn’t ready to legitimize Palestinian political leadership. Still, for those whose names made the list, today is a miracle. Six teenagers under 18. Two women. Thirty men over 60. They’ll return to rubble, but they’ll return.
The prisoner exchange reveals the ceasefire’s central paradox: it demands empathy from people who’ve spent years seeing each other as enemies. Israelis mourn soldiers and civilians killed by those now walking free. Palestinians celebrate men they view as heroes, even as they grieve children lost to bombardment. Hamas and Israel still refuse to speak directly. Egypt and Qatar brokered the deal in back rooms in Doha. And now, in Beitunia and Gaza City and Sharm El Sheikh, the world watches to see if grief can be traded for grace. This isn’t reconciliation it’s a pause. But pauses can become pathways, if both sides choose to walk them.
The fliers may stop the dancing, but they can’t stop the counting. Families are already tallying who’s home and who’s still missing. Aid convoys are lining up at Gaza’s borders, ready to move once the last hostage crosses. And in prison cells not yet emptied, men wonder if their names will ever appear on a list. The ceasefire holds for now. But its survival depends on whether both sides see today not as a victory, but as a beginning. Freedom Is Never Final It’s Always Being Negotiated.
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