Yesterday marked one year since my brother-in-law Omri came home after 738 days as a hostage of Hamas. I still remember watching him step out of the helicopter on the roof of Ichilov Hospital, waiting to finally see him up close, and then holding him in that first embrace as we shed tears together. In that moment, so much went through my head: the years of fear and uncertainty, but also the ordinary things I had missed and could finally imagine doing with him again. Joking together, sharing a beer or a whisky, watching Maccabi Tel Aviv. My sister Lishay had her husband back, my nieces Roni and Alma had their father back, and we had Omri back, with all the small moments that make someone’s presence in your life irreplaceable. There is something strange about going through a workday on an anniversary like that. The work still needs doing, even while part of your attention is somewhere else, remembering the fear that preceded that day and trying to absorb the fact that a whole year has passed since it ended. For much of those two years, I continued working full-time while advocating internationally for Omri and the other hostages. Moving between those responsibilities was often difficult, and I remain grateful to the colleagues who understood that what someone brings into a workday extends well beyond their professional responsibilities. I wrote two articles for the anniversary, each exploring a different part of what his return means. Links to both are in the comments. In the Washington Examiner, I reflected on the year Omri got his voice back. We once carried his photograph into rooms he could not enter. This year, he stood before the European Parliament as a free man and told his own story. In the JNS, I considered what the hostages’ return means for Israel, what it restored in the responsibility we owe one another, and why bringing them home does not end the need for accountability or rebuilding trust. A year later, we are learning to live beyond the long October 7. Yesterday brought enormous gratitude, alongside the recognition that coming home and healing follow different timelines.