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Roula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.
My life stopped on October 7 2023. When I go to sleep at night, I see my youngest daughter, Doron, in my dreams. Her face is pale, her eyes sunken, her cheeks hollow from starvation. This isn’t the image of her in photographs around our home. This is the most current image we have of her, broadcast to the world by Hamas, while she has been held hostage in Gaza for the past year.
One full year will not reduce our Doron to simply a hostage. Doron is a daughter, sister, “Dodo” to her five nephews, and friends. She is a talented and dedicated veterinary nurse from Kibbutz Kfar Aza.
On October 7, Doron was kidnapped from her apartment in the kibbutz where we all lived. At 10.20am, she called me and said that someone had broken into her room. She was hiding under her bed. Ten minutes later, she sent a voice message to her friends — a message that said only one thing: “They’ve got me, they’ve got me.” A year later, she is still held captive by Hamas.
Kfar Aza had 37 residents in its “young generation” neighbourhood: a small garden lined with bungalows where the people in their twenties and thirties lived. It’s arguably the most fun part of the kibbutz. There is always music playing, barbecues and games. Eleven inhabitants of this neighbourhood were murdered and seven were kidnapped. The homes that belonged to young nature lovers and children of kibbutz members now sit destroyed. One year later, these structures stand as they were left on October 7, a hollowed out reminder of the vibrant community that once lived there.
In January, months after her kidnapping, I heard my daughter’s voice again. This time, it was from deep within the tunnels, in a horrific video published by Hamas, where she and two other female hostages are talking to the camera. She looked so pale, so weak, so afraid, but alive. While this video brought a sign of life, now, so many months later, we still worry tirelessly. Anything could happen at any moment. Every time I watch — or even think about — that video, I am more determined to fight for her freedom.
We know from hostages who have returned that there’s not enough food or water, they can’t sleep and, of course, are not given their medication. Imagining my daughter in these conditions, I can barely breathe. But beyond all of this horror is the sexual violence she and the other women in captivity are facing.
We have heard that the young women are followed around everywhere, including the bathroom. Testimonies have emerged from witnesses about depraved acts of rape and sexual torture. It didn’t start and stop on October 7. This puts our fear front and centre — is this happening to Doron?
There’s no time. There are hostages from our kibbutz who have returned, but sadly, none of them have seen Doron. The fear is that if they haven’t seen her, she’s alone. The worst thing is simply not knowing anything about her. Having no access, no way to check she’s OK or to help her.
For a whole year we have attended rallies, spoken to anyone who would lend an ear and campaigned for the release of our daughter and the other hostages. My life stopped on October 7. I’m constantly thinking about what more I can do. I can’t stop and think about myself and my needs. They’re on hold. Set aside. This isn’t the time to think about myself.
I can’t understand — how is the world not screaming alongside us?
We must unite as a global community with a singular objective — to exert pressure on Hamas to release the hostages and agree to a ceasefire deal. Only collective efforts can make a difference. Our plea to the rest of the world is to bring Doron and the other hostages home. You are our voice, I ask you to keep echoing it everywhere. All the time. Until the last hostage returns.
For nine months I carried her inside me. I protected her, nourished her, guarded her. I thought I was bringing her into a good world. But I couldn’t help her when she was kidnapped. She was just 10 metres away from me. I wish I could have continued to keep her safe inside me.
I remember the last conversations I had with her. I want her so badly to know that we’re all fighting for her. Doron, please, I’m begging you — keep fighting until we can reach you.
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