Hostage Experience in Gaza Conflict

I was just 17 years old when I was taken hostage into Gaza.

On the morning of October 7th, sirens sounded in my kibbutz

and we entered a safe room that we stayed for hours.

We began to understand that something different

was happening outside.

We heard from friends that terrorists were roaming in other kibbutzim.

Then I realized they were inside my home.

My father was still recovering from a bicycle accident, but

he got up and tried to block the entrance to the safe room.

He did everything he could to protect us, but it was hopeless.

The terrorists broke into our safe room and murdered my father.

As we were leaving, my sister fainted.

My mother went to get something to help her, and I stayed with my younger

brothers. When my mother returned, she discovered

that my sister has been shot in the face.

She meant no harm. She was just a harmless girl lying

helpless on the floor,

and yet they still chose to kill her,

like her life didn't deserve a chance.

Then they took my mother, my younger brothers, and me to my

mother's car and drove us into Gaza.

We were terrified. Civilians in Gaza were banging on the

windows. I could see in their eyes that they want to kill

us.

We arrived at a house that looked like a normal civilian home.

Inside, there was a balcony with a shaft that led

down into a tunnel. My brothers were scared to go

in, but I told them it will be okay and they could go after

me. The tunnel was low, cramped, with no air

to breathe and no light of day.

One day, the terrorists moved us to an apartment

where we

were kept for five weeks. We were held by a school

teacher who was also a Hamas terrorist.

He was supposed to be teaching students.

Instead, he held us hostage.

We were moved many times. Everywhere we went,

we were dressed in Arab clothing, and the terrorists

wore civilian clothes in the streets.

One day, we arrived at a supermarket.

For hours, the terrorists forced us to hide within

the

shelves. We were hiding there among the everyday

items, right in the middle of civilian life.

When I wasn't feeling well, a man came who claimed to be a

doctor, but he wasn't. He pretended to

examine me. He told me I will be released soon

and go back to

Israel. It was a lie.

Sometimes I tried to speak to the terrorists.

Where in the Quran does it say it's allowed to murder

innocent people and kidnap men, women, and

children?

Every time I asked, they stayed silent.

One night they took me and my family to a mosque.

There were children inside and people praying.

I believe that a mosque was used as a place to pray, but

instead, Hamas used it to hide us. Another

night, we were moved to a school. We watched as rockets were

shot from inside the school, aimed at my friends and

family in Israel. We heard civilians cheering for each

rocket while we were being held hostage

right next to them. The terrorists didn't allow my brothers to

speak to each other. When they tried to play or draw, the

terrorists took their art,

ripped them up, and threw them away.

That Saturday, we were alone, just us facing

Hamas terrorists. And even today,

when I see antisemitic protests around the world, I feel

alone in the face of terror.

Freedom for the revolution. Freedom for the revolution.

The world must not forget the nightmare that we experienced.

The world cannot ignore what Hamas did to my family.

Our fear, our pain, our loss, it

must be remembered. Don't leave us alone.

Support us. Stand with us. Don't forget what they did to

us. Don't forget what they did to me.