When the bus came into view, there was a surge of expectation and a rush of people.

Everyone wanted to get a view, to see through the windows, to see if they could spot a familiar face, or a relative, or a friend.

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These were the people being sent back to the West Bank as part of the ceasefire deal – the people exchanged for the hostages.

The welcome they got was chaotic and joyful, just like previous prisoner releases. But there was something different this time – a changed, charged atmosphere and a heavier police presence.

And as the minutes passed by, the sense of joy was also pockmarked by pockets of utter sadness.

At first, it was a mistake. We saw a woman in floods of tears watching as prisoners filed off the two buses, showing victory signs at the waiting crowds. She had come to meet a cousin, but was sure that somehow he had been missed out and left behind. Her tears flowed until, some time later, she found him.

But others were not so fortunate. Overnight, the Israeli authorities had decided to increase the number of prisoners deemed dangerous enough to be denied a return to the West Bank.

Instead, this group, which makes up the majority of the 250 released prisoners, was taken to Gaza and released. Then they get the choice of whether to stay in Gaza or to be deported to another country – possibly Egypt or Turkey.

It is one thing to be taken back to Gaza if you are Gazan. But for the prisoners who come from the West Bank, and who are confronted by the apocalyptic wasteland left behind by war, it is a ticket to deportation, and the knowledge they can never return to their homeland.

You can only get to the West Bank by going through Israeli checkpoints or passport checks. And, clearly, having been deported, you won’t be allowed back in.

And so it is that we see Ghadeer in floods of tears. She is a police officer, in her uniform, and she runs back to the sanctuary of her car, to cry.

‘Psychological terror’

Her sister Abeer is also here, and also distraught. Their brother, who they expected to collect, has been taken to Gaza. They did not know until they got here, and realised he had not emerged from the bus.

Her cousin, Yahya, is also here: “We got a call from my cousin last night, and then we got a written warning taped on our door saying that we weren’t allowed to celebrate.

“At midnight, they moved him south, and then to Gaza, all without our knowledge. We came here to see him, and we were shocked that he wasn’t on the bus.

“It is part of their playbook – psychological terror, playing with our emotions, and those of the prisoners.”

To Israel, the release of these prisoners has been a cause of soul-searching, criticised by some as a reckless action that frees terrorists. But for Palestinians, these prisoners are a blend of freedom fighters and political prisoners, some of whom have spent years in detention despite never facing criminal trial.

The prisoners have been told not to celebrate after their release, and these are warnings they take seriously. One man tells us: “I can’t talk, but I am happy.” Another simply says” “I can’t say anything today – come back tomorrow.”

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‘They are taking our soul’

But another tells us he is “ashamed” that it could have taken the death of so many people in Gaza to secure his release. Emotions run high.

Among the crowds, we see Aman Nafa. Her husband is Nael Barghouti, who has spent 45 years in prison – more than any other Palestinian prisoner – and is now in exile in Turkey. He’s banned from returning, she’s banned from visiting him.

I ask her about the ceasefire, and the chances of a new beginning between Israel and the Palestinians. She bristles.

“They don’t want any peace with us,” she says. “They just want to take the land. It’s like our soul – they are taking our soul. They are torturing us.”

I ask her about her emotions on a day when the focus of the world is on the return of the hostages.

“Double standards,” she says, “but the people around the world – they know what is happening in Palestine. We are not against Jewish people. We are against the Zionists who want to empty our land and take it.”

Acrimony, mistrust, and the fear of tomorrow are endemic among many in the West Bank. A ceasefire in Gaza has soothed some nerves, but, so far at least, it hasn’t addressed the fundamental problems.

And so the anxiety ripples onwards.

For two years, they have gathered in Hostages Square – parents, brothers, sisters, extended family and friends clutching photographs and signs reading “bring them home”.

They have campaigned, protested and prayed for the return of loved ones taken in the 7 October attacks.

But now the mood has shifted.

The chants of frustration have turned into songs of celebration.

The tears that once fell in despair are now tears of relief.

The square, normally a site of weekly demonstrations, has transformed into a sea of flags.

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We watched as tens of thousands packed into this area of Tel Aviv to witness a moment many feared might never come – the homecoming of the remaining hostages.

Every few minutes, the massive video screens behind the stage beamed new images – exhausted but smiling hostages embracing their families.

Each clip is met with a roar of applause – the atmosphere is one of sheer elation, it is electric.

When helicopters pass overhead, ferrying freed captives to nearby hospitals, the crowd erupts again and again, looking upwards to the sky in awe at the impossible that’s now been made possible.

The sense of catharsis here is palpable – at last some closure after a nightmare two years and a chance for the healing process of a nation to begin.

But beneath the jubilation, there’s a deep well of sorrow – and reckoning.

The 7 October massacre was the deadliest single-day attack on Israel since the nation’s founding in 1948 – an event that upended the country’s sense of safety and unity.

More than 1,000 were killed that day, and hundreds were taken into Gaza.

For the families who never stopped fighting for their return, this is both an ending and a beginning.

Now that the living hostages are home, attention turns to those who did not survive.

Officials say the process of identifying and repatriating remains will take time – and for some families, closure still remains heartbreakingly out of reach.

But the questions that linger extend far beyond grief.

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In the days and weeks ahead, the Israeli government faces intense scrutiny.

How could the country’s fabled intelligence and defence apparatus fail so catastrophically?

And what accountability, if any, will fall on Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who has faced mounting criticism over both the failures leading up to the attack and the protracted efforts to secure the hostages’ release?

This is a nation rejoicing, but also searching for answers.

For now, though, the families in this square are holding tight to one immutable positive – after more than two long years, the living hostages, at least, are finally home.

Drones have been a common sight in Gaza for a long time, but they have always been military.

The whine of a drone is enough to trigger fear in many within the enclave.

But now, drones are delivering something different – long, lingering footage of the devastation that has been wreaked on Gaza. And the images are quite staggering.

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Whole city blocks reduced to rubble. Streets destroyed. Towns where the landscape has been wholly redesigned.

Decapitated tower blocks and whole areas turned into black and white photographs, where there is no colour but only a palette of greys – from the dark hues of scorched walls to the lightest grey of the dust that floats through the air.

And everywhere, the indistinct dull grey of rubble – the debris of things that are no longer there.

The joy that met the ceasefire has now changed into degrees of anxiety and shock.

Gaza is full of people who are returning to their homes and hoping for good news. For a lucky few, fortune is kind, but for most, the news is bad.

Umm Firas has been displaced from her home in Khan Younis for the past five months. She returned today to the district she knew so well. And what she found was nothing.

“This morning we returned to our land, to see our homes, the neighbourhoods where we once lived,” she says.

“But we found no trace of any houses, no streets, no neighbourhoods, no trees. Even the crops, even the trees – all of them had been bulldozed. The entire area has been destroyed.

“There used to be more than 1,750 houses in the block where we lived, but now not a single one remains standing. Every neighbourhood is destroyed, every home is destroyed, every school is destroyed, every tree is destroyed. The area is unliveable.

“There’s no infrastructure, no place where we can even set up a tent to sit in. Our area, in downtown Khan Younis used to be densely populated. Our homes were built right next to each other. Now there is literally nowhere to go.

“Where can we go? We can’t even find an empty spot to pitch our tent over the ruins of our own homes. So we are going to have to stay homeless and displaced.”

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It is a story that comes up again and again. One man says that he cannot even reach his house because it is still too near the Israeli military officers stationed in the area.

Another, an older man whose bright pink glasses obscure weary eyes, says there is “nothing left” of his home “so we are leaving it to God”.

“I’m glad we survived and are in good health,” he says, “and now we can return there even if it means we need to eat sand!”

The bulldozers have already started work across the strip, trying to clear roads and allow access. Debris is being piled into huge piles, but this is a tiny sticking plaster on a huge wound.

The more you see of Gaza, the more impossible the task seems of rebuilding this place. The devastation is so utterly overwhelming.

Bodies are being found in the rubble while towns are full of buildings that have been so badly damaged they will have to be pulled down.

Humanitarian aid is needed urgently, but, for the moment, the entry points remain closed. Charities are pleading for access.

It is, of course, better for people to live without war than with it. Peace in Gaza gifts the ability to sleep a little better and worry a little less. But when people do wake up, what they see is an apocalyptic landscape of catastrophic destruction.