Around us, a symphony of noise – the cries of sirens intertwined with chants, shouts, and revving engines.
Ramallah is perpetually vibrant, but today, in its core, it was particularly chaotic.
Before us, three buses navigated through throngs of people, escorted by motorbikes and Palestinian law enforcement officials, clearing paths through the crowd.
And onboard, peering through the windows, numerous individuals on the brink of freedom.
As they disembarked from the buses, the air was filled with screams and cheers.
All of these men – they were solely men – had been found guilty by an Israeli court of grave offenses, including attempted murder and terrorism.
Yet here they stood, exiting the buses, savoring the adoration of the largest city in the West Bank.
Their liberation is one of the costs Israel is conceding to secure its hostages.
As the buses rolled by, we encountered Safia, eagerly awaiting the arrival of her son Ismail.
He had been convicted of attempted murder; to the Israelis, her son was seen as a perilous criminal, but for those who gathered to greet these men, they were political detainees, finally set free.
Safia, a slight and frail woman, sank to her knees in prayer as the bus passed by, expressing gratitude to God for her son’s homecoming.
The prisoners’ trek began on the opposite side of Ramallah when their buses were guided away from an Israeli prison as part of a convoy of military cars.
Alongside other journalists and a throng of intrigued locals, we had been observing the prison from a nearby hillside when we noticed the convoy assembling.
At that time, no buses were present, but some vehicles approached the ridge to force us to relocate.
We shifted to another vantage point and witnessed the deployment of tear gas at the end of the street.
Then, much sooner than anticipated, we spotted the buses traversing the street and moving away from the prison.
More tear gas was discharged.
The journey for the coaches took over an hour to reach the heart of Ramallah, where the men inside would finally be liberated.
They appeared wearing grey tracksuits provided by the Israeli prison service.
Many appeared weary and worn after enduring long years behind bars.
Ahmad Musa, who had completed nearly half of a 27-year sentence for attempted murder, rolled up his pant leg to reveal where he had endured shackles.
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He asserted that he had frequently been assaulted in detention “away from the prying eyes of the cameras” and that the assaults persisted almost until the moment he departed.
“Detainees in Israeli jails are enduring the direst conditions,” he remarked.
“My message to all Palestinians, regardless of their location, whether in Gaza, the West Bank, or abroad, is that you have mastered the ability to generate joy in spite of the suffering and atrocities.”
Many in Israel, however, find this joy difficult to accept and are enraged that individuals convicted of murder are now allowed to roam freely in the West Bank.
Nonetheless, this is the price that Israel has chosen to pay in order to retrieve its hostages.
Correspondingly, there is no shortage of advocacy groups who argue that Israel has frequently imposed lengthy imprisonments based on evidence that is minimal and dubious; that many of these detainees should not have been incarcerated at all.
As is often the case in this region, discovering a mutually agreeable solution is notoriously challenging.
Thus, exuberance continues in Ramallah, while discussions persist in different quarters.
Across the street, Mohammad Daraghmeh observes with a grin.
A mechanical engineer hailing from Jenin, he shares that the release of the prisoners signifies “the delightful scent of freedom”.
“Do you consider them heroes?” I inquire, to which he smiles and shrugs off the question as somewhat absurd.
“Oh yes, they are indeed heroes. But they represent more than mere heroism – they have instilled hope within us. It is a triumph over Israel.”
He asserts it is a positive day. A remarkable day. But I contemplate what lays ahead for him.
A brief silence ensues.
“The prospects for the West Bank raise an important question,” Muhammad adds. “I fear the future may bring even more sorrow due to the Israeli occupation.”
“Do you feel frightened?” I ask.
“Yes, certainly,” he replies.
“Absolutely.”