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Devastating footage

Freedom's Bitter Path: Arbel Yehud's Walk Through Darkness

Israel's mediators have sent a stern warning to Egypt and Qatar, saying that they will not tolerate scenes like we saw earlier today.

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Arbel Yehud

I don't know what we expected.

Maybe we let ourselves believe in fairy tales. In Hollywood endings where the rescued emerge triumphant, somehow untouched by their ordeal. We'd seen the other soldiers last week, waving and smiling in that grotesque display, and something in us whispered: maybe. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

But now we watch Arbel's long walk to freedom, and reality crashes through our paper-thin hopes.

She looks haunted. Hollowed out. Her face carries the gray pallor of someone who hasn't seen sunlight in months. Her body tells the story of missed meals, of days that stretched into endless darkness. Her eyes – God, her eyes – they dart between the faces in the crowd, wide with a terror that makes my throat close.

The mob presses in around her. Thousands of them, their faces contorted with hate, screaming words we can't hear but whose meaning is written in every aggressive gesture, every threatening step forward. The Red Cross workers try to form a barrier, but they seem so few, so fragile against this sea of rage.

We watch her flinch at every sudden movement, every raised voice. Each step toward the waiting cars seems to take an eternity. This should be her moment of triumph. Instead, she's running another gauntlet, facing another kind of captivity - this one made of hatred and the threat of violence.

The relief we feel knowing she's in Red Cross custody is real, but it's bitter. Tainted by the knowledge that even in this moment of liberation, she couldn't be granted the dignity of a peaceful walk to freedom. That her first taste of liberty had to be seasoned with fear.

She's coming home. That's what matters, we tell ourselves. She's coming home.

But something in us breaks, watching her make this terrible journey. Because we know now, with crushing certainty, that coming home is just the beginning. That the real work of healing – from what happened there, from what happened here, from all of it – is still ahead.

The cars pull away, finally. She's safe, at least from the immediate threat. But the image of her face – that haunted, hunted look – stays with us. And we wonder what kind of homecoming it is, when the path to freedom is lined with those who would deny it to you.

We got what we wanted. She's coming home.

But not like this. Never like this.

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