We will not let your story swallow you

Rom showed us something holy yesterday.

He came to hostage square for the first time- saying that he had dreamed of this moment in G*za.

When he spontaneously got up to speak, he asked us if we had watched his interview- if we knew the things we all now know about what he went through —

things that wound the soul just to hear them.

The kind of harm meant to shatter a person from the inside out.

No one should ever bear what he bore.

No one.

But in Hostage Square, what we saw was not brokenness.

I saw belonging.

Rom stood in the middle of the crowd, and the crowd moved closer —

not to consume his pain,

not to demand his story,

but simply to hold him.

Hands reached gently, carefully, tenderly.

He was not treated like a symbol or a headline or a lesson.

He was treated like a beloved son who has come home.

And he received it.

He told us that his heart was at 200% capacity.

He allowed himself to be seen.

He allowed himself to be cared for.

He allowed us to love him.

That is courage in its truest form.

Because there is a kind of love that does not erase what happened —

it just makes space around the hurt.

It says:

You are still here.

You are still whole enough to be held.

We will not let your story swallow you.

We will not let shame speak for you.

We will not let you stand alone.

We are a people remembering how to guard each other’s souls.

And Rom showed us how.

Not by being “strong.”

Not by overcoming what cannot be undone.

But by letting us meet him exactly where he is —

in tenderness, in trembling, in the soft space where pain and love live together.

Rom reminded us that dignity is not something that can be stolen.

It can be bruised, it can be threatened, it can be buried under horror —

but when someone is met with pure love, with gentle hands and open hearts,

dignity reawakens.

He taught us that healing begins

not when the wounds close,

but when we are not forced to carry them alone.

Rom showed us something holy yesterday:

We come home to each other.

This is what we do.

This is who we are.

And we will continue to hold him —

and one another —

with love that does not look away.

With love that stays.