In Ramallah, 50-year-old Ibtisam Kamel Emri waits with trembling hands and a heart full of hope for the release of her younger brother, imprisoned for twenty-five long years. Her family’s story mirrors that of countless others who have endured the slow agony of separation under occupation, holding on to faith through years of absence and uncertainty.

“He was just a boy when they took him,” she said softly. “He’s my brother, my son, my heart. Only God knows how much we’ve suffered waiting for this moment.” For more than two decades, her family has lived between silence and prayer, marking time by the changing faces of children who grew up without ever knowing their uncle.

Now, under the terms of the latest ceasefire and prisoner exchange, her brother is among nearly two thousand Palestinians expected to be freed. The family was told that public celebrations would not be permitted, a restriction imposed on many in the occupied West Bank. Yet Ibtisam’s response was simple: “Our happiness is in our hearts; we don’t need to shout it.”

As the hours stretch endlessly, she clings to faith that she will soon embrace her brother once again. “His parents are gone, his children have grown, and the world has changed, but we’ve never stopped waiting,” she whispered. Her words capture a quiet resilience that has carried so many through decades of loss, a hope that even after years of imprisonment and grief, reunion remains possible.