844 days and no longer counting. And, as if that were not enough of a fact to wrap your head around, 4209 days and no longer counting. Yesterday, the last of the 250 hostages snatched by Hamas on October 7 was returned to the bosom of his family. Today is the first day since July 20, 2014 that there has not been an Israeli hostage in Gaza.

On July 20, 2014, during the Battle of Shuja’iyya, Hamas fired an anti-tank missile at an armoured personnel carrier, killing all seven Israeli soldiers inside. Hamas then abducted the body of one of them, Staff Sergeant Oron Shaul z”l. He was returned to Israel on 19 January last year.

On January 25, 2026, Israeli forces located, identified and brought home the body of Staff Sergeant Ran Gvili z”l of the Special Patrol Unit Yasam.

For the 4208 days between those two dates, and especially for the 843 days between October 7, 2023 and yesterday, Israel has held its breath. A fundamental tenet in the morality of the IDF is that it leaves nobody behind. It sees itself as having a sacred obligation (secular, but no less sacred for that) to return to their parents every single child entrusted to it by those parents.

That the country sees this as a sacred obligation regarding any living child (or spouse, or parent, or sibling) probably seems natural to any civilized person. That this is equally true regarding a soldier who has been killed is, perhaps, less obviously natural. It seems to me a reflection of what is perceived as a compelling need to offer the bereaved family their best opportunity of achieving closure.

The Jewish way, which has become the Israeli way, is to embrace life and reject death. The period of mourning for a first-degree relative is carefully calibrated: the period of limbo before the funeral; the funeral; the first week after the burial; the remainder of the first year after the burial; the rest of the bereaved’s life. Each period has its rules, its traditions, its strictures; its requirements to mourn or to turn from mourning. The effect (and, I suspect, the purpose) of this calibration is to ease the mourner back into the world of the living.

Many, many families commemorate their departed loved one not by mourning but by acting: often by setting up a charity in the name, the memory and the spirit of their loved one. This act has undoubtedly played a major part in restoring meaning to the lives of thousands of bereaved Israelis. However, for such a process to start, letting go of the all-consuming grief is a pre-requisite. Few people can achieve this if they have no body to bury, no ceremony of parting, no gradation of moving on. The IDF’s sacred obligation pledges to afford them that opportunity.

I also think the IDF, and the country as a whole, feels an equal obligation to the one who has been killed. To be forever separated from the country for which they gave their life is a terrible injustice. The nation feels the need to do everything in its power to repay the debt of gratitude it owes to its citizens who sacrifice their lives for the nation.

One of the most remarkable features of the weekly Torah portion is that every year, every week, the portion resonates with current events. This week is no exception.

In the very first verses of Beshalach, this week’s portion, we are told that Moshe took the bones of Yosef with him as he left Egypt, because Yosef had made his brothers swear that, when God remembers them and brings them up out of Egypt, they will take his bones with them. This, we understand, is a vow that his brothers passed to their children and, ultimately, Levi’s great-grandson Moshe fulfilled his ancestor’s vow. Rashi infers from the phrasing of the Hebrew that the remains of all of the brothers were brought up from Egypt in the Exodus. This would mean that all of the founders of the nation, from Avraham and Sarah to Yosef and his brothers, were buried in Eretz Yisrael. We leave nobody behind.

It is hard to convey the extent to which yesterday’s return to Israel of Ran Gvili is seen and felt, throughout the country, as a huge release, as a final fulfilment of the IDF’s, and the nation’s, pledge. As people throughout Israel take off their yellow ribbon lapel pins and bracelets, as the clock in Hostages Square in Tel Aviv is stopped (as seen in the photo above), as shuls stop saying psalms for the return of all hostages, Israel faces a new and a better dawn.

Over the last two years, and especially over the last few weeks, I have heard Ran Gvili’s name more than I have read it, and I have read it in English far more frequently than in Hebrew. It was only today that I noticed the spelling of his name in Hebrew. In my ignorance, I would have expected his surname to be spelt גוילי, but I realise now it is actually spelt גואילי with a silent aleph between the vav and the first yud. It is easy to overlook that aleph, as I had done; it is not immediately obvious to a non-native Hebrew speaker, or to someone who is not an expert in the origins of family names, what the purpose of the aleph is. However, if you forget to include the aleph, you end up with a word that is no longer Ran’s name. An essential part of what made him what he was is that aleph. Omit the aleph and you change the essence.

Every single Israeli is like that aleph. Leave one of them out, leave one of them behind, and you diminish the meaning of the entire nation.

Our children have returned to within their borders. Today is the first day of the rest of our national life. Today is Day 844 and not counting. Today’s date is, finally, no longer October 7.