Hope Amidst Continuous Fear
It was two years ago, on October 7, 2023, when I was drawn out of my home in Kibbutzberg by a Hamas terrorist, still in my pajamas. My wife, Raz, and I were suddenly yanked from our normal lives and taken to Gaza. I was finally released in February 2025 after 491 long days, but, tragically, 48 hostages remain in the hands of Hamas. My personal nightmare continues. It won’t be over until they return home.
But now, there’s a glimmer of hope. Former President Donald Trump has negotiated to bring all 48 hostages back home, making a historic agreement aimed at ending the war and alleviating the suffering of our people. After enduring so much pain, we may finally have a genuine shot at resolution.
However, with this newfound hope comes anxiety. I’ve seen opportunities dashed before. The agreement is not yet finalized. I fully understand what’s at stake, having lived through it. I know what those remaining hostages are experiencing right now.
It’s been two years since Hamas terrorists invaded our homes, taking lives and capturing men, women, children, and the elderly. That Sabbath morning began like any other, but by the day’s end, Raz and I found ourselves as hostages.
When Raz was freed in November 2023, I thought I might be next. But instead, I was taken to a dark, underground tunnel—30 meters below ground, with no light, scarce air, and little food or water. It was a more than a year of darkness.
I wasn’t alone; I was held with five other hostages: Elkana Bobot, Maxim Harkin, Segev Kalphon, Joseph Ohana, and Bar Kuperstein. They became like sons to me, and I to them. We needed one another to survive. Six of us squeezed into a cell meant for three. We dug with our bare hands to create a place to sleep. Every request for food or basic needs required lengthy discussions, as the repercussions could be dire. Asking for something as simple as pita bread could lead to severe punishment. We had to be strategic; two weeks without asking was our norm. So, we debated and voted carefully.
Every day brought new fears. Hamas made it clear: if the IDF approached, they would shoot us point-blank. I’m haunted by memories of them making us plead for our lives, with threats of brutal violence hanging over us. After 270 days, the beatings began in earnest. One guard told me, “I hate you. If they order me to kill you, I won’t use a gun. I’ll use a knife.” Over time, hope dwindled. In those moments, survival felt almost impossible, yet what fueled my will was seeing our people rallying for us.
I was released in February 2025. I had lost 77 pounds. Everything felt surreal on my first day of freedom. One moment, in particular, stands out: I had the honor of meeting President Trump, who committed himself to bringing all hostages home. I owe him my freedom and am grateful for his unwavering dedication to those still held captive. If anyone deserves a Nobel Peace Prize, it’s certainly him, for his relentless efforts on our behalf.
However, being free doesn’t erase the nightmare. I still find myself waking at night, touching the walls just to reassure myself I’m not back in that tunnel. And each time I open the fridge, thinking of the abundance I have, I cant help but remember those who have nothing.
A few months back, Hamas released a chilling propaganda video where Elkana and Joseph directly addressed me, pleading for help to escape their living hell. Until all 48 hostages return—both living and deceased—I’m stuck in this pause of my life.
Since my release, I’ve seen numerous negotiations come and go, but this time, it has to be different. The world must ensure this agreement is fulfilled. I know all too well the daily torment of captivity. They won’t endure it forever; none of us were meant to. My time of 491 days is a fraction of what they now face.
The return of all 48 hostages must take precedence. Every moment counts. The world is watching, and we desperately need to act before it’s too late.
