For 614 days, I’ve been grappling with the reality that my son, Segev, has been taken hostage in Gaza by Hamas. He was abducted during the Nova Music Festival on October 7, 2023. It’s a thought that gnaws at me constantly; he’s one of 251 hostages, with 55 still unaccounted for.
Just imagine, if you can, what it would feel like—knowing your child, whom you raised and cherished, is trapped in such dire circumstances. How do you cope with the thought of him suffering? Segev is my middle child, someone who brings joy and wit to those around him. He even helped me at our family bakery.
That day, he was with his friend, Asaf, when the alarms went off. We were in touch regularly, and he assured us all was well. Neither of us expected the horrors that were unfolding. I urged him to return home; his reassurances felt like a fleeting moment of normalcy. But as the news unfolded, fear began to seep in. I called him again, desperately warning him about the attacks. The last thing I heard was him running and telling me there was a shooting. It’s haunting—I never spoke to him again after that.
I rushed to a local hospital, overwhelmed by the chaos. I asked about Segev, only to receive the heartbreaking news that he had been captured. They had attempted to flee, but a split-second decision left him vulnerable. Asaf watched helplessly from a distance as the terrorists took my son.
Months later, a former hostage reached out to share his experience with Segev. He spoke of the camaraderie developed among captives, including their shared observations of the Sabbath. But then the darker truths emerged—torture, deprivation, and emotional abuse were part of their daily reality.
Every single day starts with dread and ends in anxiety. I often find myself imagining my son’s cries echoing through those dark tunnels. It’s a struggle for him to stay strong, but I want him to know we’re fighting for him. We share a deep faith that guides us through this nightmare. He needs to find the strength to endure.
As a family, we are hanging on by a thread. Since his abduction, our tireless efforts have focused on bringing him home—through protests, meetings, and raising awareness. The weight of inaction is unbearable. It’s a relentless battle of fear and hope.
Segev recently turned 27. Birthdays should be a time of celebration, but how do you celebrate when someone you love is lost to darkness?
We need your support. I believe that international, especially American, assistance is crucial. I’ve seen firsthand how President Trump has successfully worked to bring hostages home. Many families have reunited under his leadership, and I yearn for the same fate for my son and those still held captive.
President Trump has done remarkable things, but time has slipped by for many, and the stakes feel higher than ever. Each moment, each thought about the brutal conditions they face, inflicts its own kind of suffering on me. The hope that Segev is alive fuels my determination, yet deepens my despair.
Fathers, imagine facing this nightmare. Your son being held hostage and tortured—how do you survive? I won’t stop being his father; I won’t stop fighting for him.
I implore you all: don’t look away from our anguish. These 55 hostages are more than numbers; they are individuals with lives and families. Segev is my son, and he means everything to me.
This Father’s Day, when you embrace your children, think of those still trapped, including my son. They’re waiting for someone to rescue them, to remember they’re more than statistics. They are loved ones, and they deserve to come home.
