The other lesson is to take time. There are a huge number of professionals from different disciplines: nutritionists, social workers, mental health specialists, along with the full panoply of medical staff.
But there is also a "do not disturb" card on the door of each released hostage's private room. The echoes of a hotel are deliberate, as are the care packages and soft furnishings and soft lighting to go with the hospital bed and monitors. There is an extra single bed made up for those hostages who don't want to be left alone overnight, so that a partner or relative can sleep alongside them. Their closest family will also have their own bedroom directly across the corridor from the hostage's.
"You know medical people are task-oriented. There's a schedule," says Dr Steinman. "Here you have to give them much more space. You have to decide what's urgent, and what can wait another two days. You have to be humble and flexible, without letting go of your medical responsibility."
Among those responsibilities is determining what the hostages, some of whom may have lost more than half their body weight in captivity, can eat, and how quickly.
Their physical recuperation is only part of the story. Karina Shwartz is director of social work at the Rabin Medical Center. She is another key member of the team, with a responsibility not just for the hostages but for their closest relatives. They need to learn their own delicate calibration of family dynamics – of when to speak and when not to, she says.
"The most important thing is what we're not saying," she says. "Because if we're sitting in the room, and someone tells us something very difficult about how they almost died in captivity, and we stay silent: it's a very loud silence."
But at the same time, there is a need to hold back. "We can't speak about two years in a week. The hostages need space and time. They also need quiet. We have to listen. To listen to their story."