After being detained five times – four without even being brought to trial – veteran Palestinian lawmaker Khalida Jarrar was released from Israeli prison in the first stage of the hostage deal. Jarrar too was a hostage; she was forcibly snatched from her home and imprisoned without any charges.
A pair of images posted together on social media this week told the whole story: One was of the release of now-former prisoner Khalida Jarrar, on the outskirts of Ramallah, early Monday morning; the other was of the three female Israeli hostages who had been freed in the Gaza Strip the previous evening.
Juxtaposed with the emotions and joy emanating from the image of the three Israelis, Romi Gonen, Emily Damari and Doron Steinbrecher, the photo of the freed Palestinian was heart-wrenching. Images posted of her before her latest 13-month incarceration also told the story – of a woman who is now a shadow of her former self. There were acquaintances who didn't even recognize her in the picture from this week.
The media coverage also told the story: It was virtually a festival of liberation for the Israeli hostages, with endless, live coverage here and abroad, still and video images of joy and jubilation – compared with the gloomy release of Jarrar, in the wee hours of a frigid morning, not far from a West Bank prison, which drew virtually zero interest on the part of local media and scant coverage from international outlets.
Jarrar, who turns 62 next month, was freed after she had been thrown into jail, under administrative detention, meaning without a trial, just as in four of the five previous incarcerations she endured. But anyone who followed the plight of this determined Palestinian fighter – the No. 1 female Palestinian prisoner, a political prisoner in every respect – who was never actually convicted of perpetrating violence of any sort, could not help but notice the differences: Jarrar never before looked this shattered after being freed. The illegal and inhumane changes made in the conditions of arrested or detained Palestinians after October 7, and under National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir, left their mark on her, as on every Palestinian inmate in an Israeli facility.
Jarrar too was a hostage. She was forcibly snatched from her home and imprisoned without any charges or accusations being formally filed against her – other than being a Palestinian and an opponent of the occupation regime. The struggle for her release was conducted on a limited scale; there is no point in even thinking of comparing it to the global campaigns to expedite the release of our hostages. American presidents and the high and mighty of Europe never met with Jarrar's husband; the couple's daughter was never invited to address the UN Security Council to urge for the prisoner's release. Still, in both the hostages' cases and Jarrar's, the International Red Cross was not permitted to visit, nor were their families, of course. Now, with Jarrar's release as part of the first stage of the hostage deal – along with 89 other Palestinian prisoners, the vast majority of them women – some may try to compare the conditions of incarceration in the tunnels of Hamas in Gaza to those in the dank cells of the Neve Tirtza and Damon prisons.
Half a day after Jarrar's release, she already looked rejuvenated, as though she had almost returned to her former self despite the torments she had endured. Late Monday afternoon, a flood of Palestinians streamed into the spacious banquet hall of the Catholic church in the Old City of Ramallah to greet Jarrar on the occasion of her newly reinstated freedom. She stood at the entrance to the hall with her husband, Ghassan, and, wearing a surgical mask because of her fragile health, embraced, kissed and shook hands with the thousands who arrived. Everyone present was overcome with excitement and joy.
Anyone who railed furiously this week at MK Ayman Odeh (Hadash-Ta'al), for daring to express joy at the release of hostages from both sides, is tainted by fascism: It's both permissible and necessary to be happy about Jarrar's release, without detracting in the least from the happiness at the freeing of Gonen, Damari and Steinbrecher. Both she and they well deserve the freedom they have regained. Their joy should be a transcendent human experience.
The Ramallah venue brought to mind another hall, that of a Protestant church in Ramallah, where three and a half years ago Ghassan Jarrar was the only parent present at the funeral of one of his and Khalida's two daughters, Suha, who had suddenly passed away at the age of 31. Thousands came to pay their condolences to the bereaved father that day, but Israel did not permit the mother, Khalida, who was in prison then too, to attend the funeral. Ben-Gvir was not yet in the picture back then: Instead, it was the representative of the supposedly enlightened camp, Omer Bar-Lev (Labor), minister of public security (as the portfolio was then called), who prevented Jarrar from being there.
Indeed, during each of her five incarcerations, a member of Jarrar's close family died, and she was not allowed to accompany any of them on their final journey. In the Catholic church this week, of course, the atmosphere was radically different than on those occasions: At last there was real joy, albeit restrained and tinged with pain. Jarrar was home again.
In a corner of the hall, with the crowd milling around, Ghassan described what his wife had undergone, even as she went on shaking hands amid a scene that resembled some sort of independence day reception. A former prisoner himself who has accompanied his wife's struggles and incarcerations with boundless love and support, he looked like a groom on his wedding day. His whole body radiated happiness, although his wife projected a certain amount of restraint.
Jarrar was taken into custody on December 26, 2023, two months after the start of the ground offensive in the Gaza Strip, within the framework of the mass, indiscriminate arrests Israel was also carrying out in the West Bank. Her interrogation was brief. After all, what more was there to ask after all the previous interrogations? Jarrar, who was legally elected to the Palestinian Legislative Assembly and was never convicted of anything other than "membership in an illegal association" – under a regime where every Palestinian association is illegal – was again abducted from her Ramallah home.
She was initially incarcerated in Damon Prison, with other female security prisoners and detainees, but on August 12, 2024, the prison service decided to punish her, initially without any explanation, by placing her in isolation, 24/7. For that she was transferred to Neve Tirtza, which houses female criminals, not security inmates.
Ghassan, who has almost become a lawyer in the wake of his wife's many arrests, explained back then that before solitary confinement is imposed, the law requires that a hearing be held for the inmate so they can defend themselves. Khalida's hearing took place only on September 19 – 37 days after she was cut off from the world – not exactly according to protocol. According to the explanation offered that day, a few inmates had testified that she tried to get them to rebel against the prison authorities. Hence the isolation.
The conditions: a 2.5 x 1.5 meter cell, a concrete bed with a thin mattress, a blanket and a half, in Ghassan's words, to fight off the winter cold; a doorless toilet, no water most of the day, no openings, not even a slit. At one point Ghassan told us that he had heard from Khalida's lawyer that his ailing wife often lay down next to the door, trying to inhale a bit of fresh air from the space beneath it.
"I have no air to breathe," Khalida told her lawyer – a comment that took on somewhat mythological importance, becoming a hashtag on Palestinian social media.
Ghassan related that at first Khalida had no cleaning materials to use to clean the cell, and it stank. She got a hairbrush only a few weeks ago and did not always receive her blood-pressure, diabetes and blood-thinning medications. While she was allowed after a short time to go into an empty prison yard for a full 45 minutes a day, she was forbidden to come into contact with anyone. So it was until her release this week – almost five months of being completely cut off from the world.
This week, late at night in the town square of Beitunia, Khalida and Ghassan were reunited. The video that captured their first embrace is as touching as the clips of our released hostages with their families. He weeps, she is quieter. She was then taken for examination at the Governmental Hospital in Ramallah – as our captives were, at Sheba Medical Center – discharged shortly afterward and then summoned urgently again because of the results of one of the tests; she was finally discharged again at dawn.
The couple first went to the cemetery, where Khalida placed a red rose on her daughter Suha's grave; they also visited the grave of another relative, whom they had raised as a son and who also died young. They then made their way to a beauty parlor that opened up especially for Khalida – the salons in Ramallah are closed on Mondays. By the time they arrived at the church, Khalida had been virtually transformed, her hair once again dyed black.
Asked how long they have been married, Ghassan says "a month." "I breathe Khalida and I live Khalida. And when she is arrested, my time stops," he explains. That's how he feels, after 40 years of marriage and struggle and separation. "Every year I love her more and more," he whispers. In May he plans to travel to Canada to see their other daughter, Yafa, and then bring her back to Ramallah for a visit with her little daughter, Suha, almost two and a half and named after her aunt. For her part, Khalida is prohibited from leaving the West Bank – she is too dangerous.
Will there be a sixth arrest? Ghassan: "I will not let her go on. I am concerned for her well-being. We had an understanding that we will never intervene in each other's activity, but this time I will use my influence."
And, face glowing, he goes back to stand next to Khalida and embrace the arrivals.