It’s been years since it first aired, but honestly, The Handmaid's Tale season 2 episode 7, titled "After," remains the emotional peak of the entire series. Most people remember the big explosions or the shocking escapes. But this episode? It’s different. It deals with the messy, jagged aftermath of a suicide bombing, and it does so with a raw intensity that most TV shows just can't touch.
Gilead is a nightmare. We know that. Yet, "After" shows us that even in a totalitarian hellscape, the human spirit doesn't just break; it splinters into a million complicated pieces. You've got the commanders trying to maintain order while their world literally smolders. Then you've got the handmaids, who are treated like walking wombs, suddenly finding a flicker of solidarity in a graveyard. It's heavy stuff.
What Actually Happens in The Handmaid's Tale Season 2 Episode 7
The episode picks up right in the wake of the bombing at the new Rachel and Leah Center. It’s chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos. We see the names of the dead—26 Commanders and 31 Handmaids. It’s a staggering loss for Gilead, but the show focuses on the personal toll. Offred (June) is back in the Waterford house, and the atmosphere is thick with a mix of fear and a weird, distorted sense of mourning.
Serena Joy is at her most vulnerable here. She’s trying to hold things together while Fred is in the hospital, clinging to life. There’s a scene where she’s looking at Fred’s paperwork, realizing she has to step up. It's a pivot point for her character. She’s not just the cruel wife anymore; she’s a woman realizing the limitations of the world she helped build.
The most iconic part of The Handmaid's Tale season 2 episode 7, though, has to be the funeral. Seeing all those handmaids in their red cloaks against the stark white snow, walking in a funeral procession for their "sisters," is a visual that sticks with you. It’s eerie. It’s beautiful. It’s deeply wrong. They are mourning women whose lives were stolen, yet they have to do it within the very system that did the stealing.
The Power of Names and the Graveyard Scene
One of the biggest themes in this episode is the reclamation of identity. For so long, these women have been "Of-someone." Ofglen. Ofward. Ofred. But in the quiet moments of "After," they start whispering their real names.
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"My name is Lillie."
That line hits like a freight train. It’s a small act of rebellion, but in Gilead, a small act is a death sentence. By sharing their names, they aren't just characters anymore; they're humans. This is where the show excels—finding the massive, world-shifting power in a single whispered word.
The graveyard scene is masterfully shot. Director Kari Skogland uses wide shots to show the scale of the tragedy and tight close-ups to show the individual grief. It’s a masterclass in visual storytelling. You see the red against the white, a recurring motif in the series, symbolizing fertility and life against the cold, dead reality of their existence. It's not just a funeral; it's a protest without words.
Why This Episode Is More Than Just a "Bridge"
Some critics at the time called this a "bridge episode," something to get us from the bombing to the next big plot point. They were wrong. This hour is the soul of the season.
- It forces the audience to sit with the consequences of violence.
- It explores the complicated relationship between June and Serena.
- It highlights the internal politics of the Commanders, showing their desperation.
- It gives us the "Mayday" connection through the revelation of the letters.
The letters are a huge deal. Nick gets them to Luke in Canada. When Luke and Moira read them, it’s the first time the outside world truly hears the voices of the women trapped in Gilead. It’s a moment of hope, but it’s tinged with the reality that for most of those women, the help is coming too late.
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The Moira and Luke Dynamic in Canada
While everything in Gilead is dialled up to eleven, the scenes in Little America (Toronto) provide a necessary, albeit painful, contrast. Moira is struggling. She’s looking through the photos of the dead from the bombing, trying to find her fiancée, Odette.
It’s a different kind of trauma. It’s the trauma of the survivor.
Samira Wiley’s performance in this episode is understated but powerful. When she finally finds Odette’s photo, she doesn't scream. She just... breaks. It’s a quiet, devastating moment that reminds us that the reach of Gilead extends far beyond its borders. The scars aren't just physical; they're etched into the memories of everyone who managed to get out.
Misconceptions About the Bombing Aftermath
A lot of fans initially thought the bombing would lead to an immediate uprising. They expected the Handmaids to take up arms right then and there. But The Handmaid's Tale season 2 episode 7 shows the reality of living under boots. Totalitarian regimes don't crumble overnight just because one person makes a sacrifice. Instead, the regime tightens its grip.
Commander Cushing arrives, and he is a nightmare. He starts "purifying" the city, which basically means executing anyone even remotely suspicious. It shows that in Gilead, violence only begets more state-sponsored violence. The hope that the bombing brought was quickly overshadowed by the shadows of the gallows.
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Practical Insights for Viewers and Writers
If you’re rewatching this or studying it for a media class, pay attention to the sound design. The silence in "After" is deafening. The lack of music in certain scenes makes the crunch of the snow and the rustle of the red cloaks feel incredibly intimate.
For writers, this episode is a lesson in pacing. You don't always need an explosion to have high stakes. The stakes in the Waterford living room, with Serena and June cautiously navigating their new dynamic, are just as high as the bombing itself. It's about the tension of what isn't said.
Actionable Next Steps for Fans
To truly appreciate the depth of this specific episode, there are a few things you can do to dive deeper into the lore and the production:
- Watch the "Inside the Episode" featurette: Hulu produced these for every episode in season 2. The creators explain the specific choice of the song "Hungry Heart" by Bruce Springsteen at the end, which is a jarring but perfect tonal shift.
- Read the original Margaret Atwood novel again: Compare the "Particicution" and funeral rituals described in the book to how they are visualized in this episode. The show expands on Atwood's world-building in a way that feels consistent with her original vision.
- Listen to the "Eyes on Gilead" podcast: This specific episode was covered in depth by several fan podcasts that break down the cinematography and the historical parallels to real-world regimes.
- Analyze the color palette: Notice how the lighting shifts from the clinical, cold blues of the hospital to the high-contrast reds and whites of the funeral. It’s a deliberate choice to evoke specific emotional responses.
The legacy of this episode is its refusal to look away from the pain. It doesn't give us a clean victory. It gives us a name, a funeral, and a long, cold walk back to a house that is anything but a home. That's why it stays with you long after the credits roll.
The most important takeaway from this hour of television is the reminder that identity is the ultimate form of resistance. In a world designed to erase you, remembering who you are—and who your friends are—is the bravest thing you can do. It sets the stage for everything that follows in June's journey from victim to rebel leader.
By focusing on the aftermath rather than just the act of rebellion, the writers created a piece of television that feels disturbingly real. It’s a somber, beautiful, and ultimately essential piece of the puzzle that makes this series a landmark in modern drama.
Key Takeaway: The "After" in the title refers not just to the time after the bomb, but the version of the characters that emerges once their previous world has been shattered. June is no longer just surviving; she's beginning to strategize. Serena isn't just a wife; she's a power player. The stakes have officially shifted from personal survival to the survival of the movement.