Ramallah, occupied West Bank – The morning air was heavy with anticipation as thousands of Palestinians gathered across the West Bank to welcome home loved ones freed in Israel’s latest prisoner exchange.

Inside the Ramallah Cultural Centre, joy and sorrow mingled. Some families clutched flowers and flags, others simply waited, their faces tight with exhaustion and disbelief.

Among them were Ibtisam and Raed Imran from Hebron, who had come to greet their brother Muhammad Ahmad Imran, detained in 2022 and sentenced to 13 life terms. Two days earlier, Muhammad had called from prison to say he was on the release list.

But when his name appeared, their joy collapsed.

“They told us he was among those being exiled,” Raed said quietly.

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“All words fail”

According to the Palestinian Prisoners’ Media Office, 154 of the 250 prisoners released in the exchange will not be allowed to return home — instead, they will be expelled to foreign countries.

Analysts describe this as forced displacement, a violation of international law. Families fear they may never see their loved ones again.

“I got a call from an Israeli officer who told us not to celebrate or receive well-wishers,” Raed said. “That night, soldiers raided our home, asking where Muhammad would stay. They warned us against any joy, any solidarity with Gaza.”

Beside him, Ibtisam leaned on her brother’s shoulder, her eyes red.

“We left Hebron two days ago. I wanted to be the first to see him,” she said. “But the occupation’s threats spoiled our joy. The manipulation of names, the uncertainty — it broke us. Still, I’ll stay here until the last prisoner is released. I can’t describe what’s in my heart … all words fail.”

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Joy for the al-Zeir family

Nearby, Bassam al-Zeir, a 60-year-old from Dura, stood at the gate, his hands trembling as he waited. After 23 years, he was about to see his brother Hani again.

Hani, 50, had been imprisoned since June 28, 2002, serving a 25-year sentence. Their cousin Arafat al-Zeir, arrested with him, had received 35 years.

“It was a joyful thunderbolt,” Bassam said. “At 2am, my brother’s name appeared on the list. We couldn’t believe it — we started for Ramallah immediately.”

For more than two decades, Bassam had been denied visits, his own record of arrests keeping him from seeing his brother.

“They wanted the separation to be eternal,” he said softly. “But freedom comes, even if it’s delayed by 23 years.”

Still, he admitted his joy was tempered.

“We waited a quarter of a century … and even then, they prevented joy from reaching us.”

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“This feeling cannot be described”

When the bus carrying the prisoners finally arrived, the crowd surged forward, waving flags and shouting names. Bassam stumbled in the crush, calling out:

“Hani! Hani!”

Moments later, the brothers embraced for the first time in two decades. Tears ran down their faces as they clung to each other.

“This feeling cannot be described in words,” Hani said, his voice breaking.

Their cousin Arafat, frail and pale, was carried away for medical treatment. Years of imprisonment had taken a visible toll.

Hani said the moment he was transferred to Ofer Prison, the staging ground for releases, he felt a flicker of life again.

“The hardest part of captivity isn’t the walls or chains — it’s time,” he said. “I counted the years through photos of my children growing up.”

As night fell over Ramallah, one family rejoiced in reunion. Another sat in disbelief, their joy stolen by exile. Both carried the same quiet understanding — that even freedom, for Palestinians, comes with a price.