Dear friends

I am writing this from Israel. Tonight, I watched live news as the coffin of the last hostage was returned home. Streets fell silent. A chapter closed, not with relief, but with weight.

This is a bittersweet moment for all of us, wherever we are. We prayed for life. We argued with heaven. We waited. A family member was missing.

My heart is with Ran Gvili’s family. They deserved a different ending. They deserved to see him walk through a doorway, to hear his voice, to argue about nothing important. Instead, they receive the terrible gift of certainty. The ability to bury, to mourn, and to say goodbye matters. It allows grief to move, not to vanish. Closure is a fragile word.

I am aware of how close and how far we all are. I am in Israel, but I feel my community beside me. At moments like this, Jewish pain travels without a passport.

This loss sits inside a long season of fear, anger, and exhaustion. Israelis are tired. The land is tired. The last two and a half years have stolen too much time, too many futures, too many names we now say with tears.

I pray that this return will mark an end, not another marker toward it.

I pray for stability and prosperity in Israel.

I pray for leaders who choose repair and healing over political gain.

I pray for borders that are quieter, and homes that feel safe again.

From Israel tonight, on Australia Day, I send you hope. Hope shaped by memory, by responsibility, and by care. It asks us to stay human, to listen longer, and to speak with restraint.