Nicole Lampert@nicolelampert
Incredibly powerful testimony from released hostage Eli Sharabi who asks where the world was….
My name is Eli Sharabi.
I am 53 years old. I have come back from Hell. I have returned to tell my story.
I used to live in Kibbutz Be’eri with my British-born wife, Lianne,
and my daughters, Noiya and Yahel.
It was a beautiful community.
We were all passionate about creating the best life for our children and for our neighbors.
At 16, I left Tel Aviv for Be’eri, seeking a peaceful home away from the concrete city.
I found a loving community and knew I would raise my family there.
Many asked why we lived near Gaza – but to me, Be’eri was heaven.
Lianne came from Bristol, UK, as a volunteer.
She was meant to stay a few months but she met me, and we fell in love.
We were married for 23 years, and had two wonderful daughters and a dog, Mokka.
On October 7, my Heaven turned to Hell.
Sirens began, Hamas terrorists invaded, and I was ripped away from my family, never to see them again.
For 491 days, I was kept mostly underground in Hamas terror tunnels, chained, starved, beaten and humiliated. I was held captive in the darkness – isolated from the world – by Hamas terrorists.
They took pleasure in our suffering. I survived on scraps of food, with no medical attention and no mercy.
When I was released, I weighed just 44 kilos. I had lost over 30 kilos, nearly half my body weight. For 491 days, I held onto hope. I imagined the life we would rebuild.
I dreamed of seeing my family again. Only when I returned home, I learned the truth.
My wife and my daughters had been slaughtered by Hamas terrorists on October 7.
I am here today, less than six weeks after my release, to speak for those still trapped in that nightmare.
For my brother, Yossi, murdered in Hamas captivity, his body still held hostage.
For Alon Ohel, still 50 meters underground. I swore to him that I would tell his story.
For Hersh, Ori, Eden, Carmel, Almog, and Alexander, murdered in cold blood by their captors.
For every hostage still in Hamas’ hands.
I am here to tell you the whole truth.
On the morning of October 7, at 6:29 AM, the red alerts began to come through on Lianne’s phone.
I told her not to worry. “It will be over soon,” I said.
Minutes later, we heard that terrorists were infiltrating our community. They were inside the kibbutz.
Again, I reassured her. “The army will come, they always come”.
We heard gunfire, screaming, explosions.
And then, we heard the terrorists at our door.
We had no weapons, no way to fight back.
Lianne and I made a decision – we would not resist.
We hoped we could save our daughters. The door opened. Our dog barked.
The terrorists opened fire.
Lianne and I threw ourselves over our daughters, screaming for the terrorists to stop.
Suddenly, ten terrorists were inside my home.
They took our phones.
Two of them grabbed me.
They took my wife and daughters to the kitchen. I couldn’t see them any more.
I didn’t know what was happening to them.
I was screaming their names, and they were screaming mine.
I told Lianne not to be afraid.
But this was fear beyond anything I have ever felt.
Then I knew I was being taken. As they dragged me out, I called out to my girls:
“I will be back.”
I had to believe that. But that was the last time I ever saw them.
I did not know I should have said goodbye, forever.
Outside was like a warzone.
My peaceful home – my slice of Heaven – was gone.
I saw over a hundred terrorists filming themselves celebrating, laughing, partying in our gardens as they massacred my friends and neighbors.
They dragged me to the border, beating me the whole way. My face was swollen, my ribs bruised.
When we arrived in Gaza, a mob of civilians tried to lynch me.
They pulled me from the car, but the terrorists rushed me away into a Mosque.
I was their trophy.
