2 weeks Ago By Liran Berman
On Oct. 7, 2023, two young men were kidnapped from their home in Kibbutz Kfar Aza. Their names are Gali and Ziv.
They are twin brothers, born 90 seconds apart, raised side by side, and taken together by Hamas. They marked their 27th birthday in captivity. We know they are still alive, not because of a miracle, but because they are enduring.
Holding on. But now, we are running out of time. I’m their older brother, and I will not stop fighting until they come home.
Before that morning, Gali and Ziv worked as lighting technicians for music festivals. They lit up every room with their equipment and their personalities. When so many of their friends moved to Tel Aviv, they stayed in the kibbutz down south because they wanted to care for our father, who suffers from Parkinson’s and dementia.
Gali is loud and direct — the guy who drops everything to help a friend. Ziv is quieter and observant, with a dry wit and calm strength. They have been inseparable since birth, and now they have been torn apart for the first time in their lives.
They were taken from their beds and dragged across the border into Gaza. We now know, from freed hostages, that they were separated soon afterward. The thought is unbearable.
For months, we lived in uncertainty. We believed they were alive, but had no proof. No clarity.
Just fragments and fear. Only recently, after months of agonizing silence, did we hear the words we had been praying for from those who returned: Gali and Ziv are still there. Still surviving.
Still waiting. This isn’t the life I imagined. On Oct.
7, when the devastating massacre happened, we lost so many from our kibbutz, and everything changed. I became a full-time brother in a fight for survival — not mine, but theirs. My father is still unaware that his two youngest children have been kidnapped.
My mother can barely leave the house. The grief is overwhelming. The fear is constant.
So I became the voice of our entire family. I travel. I speak.
I attend meetings, face cameras and stand on stages, not because I’m comfortable with it, but because I have no choice. Because my brothers can’t speak for themselves. All the while, I try to be present for my two young children.
But I’m not the father I want to be right now, and I’m not the husband I promised to be. I’m torn between two responsibilities, and I carry that guilt every day. Just weeks into your presidency, Mr.
President, you made possible what seemed out of reach for so long: the return of hostages to their families. Thirty-three of them. You made the hostage crisis a priority, and for the first time in many painful months, something shifted.
The silence broke. The ground moved. And we felt something we hadn’t truly experienced in far too long: hope that this nightmare could end.
From the bottom of my heart: Thank you. You didn’t just move things forward; you changed the atmosphere. Your leadership brought momentum, clarity and compassion.
You made the hostages a top priority. You reminded the world and their captors that they are not forgotten. They are the heart of this story: innocent people whose freedom and lives hang in the balance.
But my brothers are still in Gaza. And so are 57 others. Every day they remain there, another day is stolen from their lives.
Every delay risks turning this from a rescue mission into a memorial. I know how far we’ve come, but we’re not there yet. President Trump, we believe in your commitment.
We’ve seen it. We’ve felt it. Please keep going.
You brought light into our darkness. You gave families like mine reason to believe again. That belief sustains us.
But it’s not enough on its own. Soon, you will mark your first 100 days in office. And those 100 days have already changed lives.
You brought 33 people home. Now, I’m asking, on behalf of my family and all the families still waiting, please finish what you started. Gali and Ziv are not just pawns in a cruel game.
They are two good young men with full lives waiting to be lived. They belong at home, with us. President Trump, your first 100 days gave us our first real hope.
Please don’t let it be our last. Copyright © 2025 The Washington Times, LLC. .
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