Jack

"They kept beating me because, for them, I was a prize. I woke up in some ruined house, lying half-naked on rocks, surrounded by Hamas terrorists." Stop what you're doing and read this testimony from former hostage Ilana Gritzewsky who just spoke before the UN Security Council: “They grabbed me by the hair, hit me in the stomach, causing me to lose my breath. They dragged me across the floor, lifted me, and threw me against the wall. They pointed guns at me, hit me, tried to film me with my phone. I raised my hands, told them I was Mexican, begged them not to hurt me, not to rape me, not to shoot me, just to let me go. The only thing I could think of was having my family see me end my life like this. The terrorists beat me, humiliated me, touched me all over, threw me on a motorcycle, and took me into Gaza.” On the way to Gaza, when they started to touch me and sexually abuse me, I passed out physically and mentally, I couldn't handle it anymore. I guess my body preferred to shut down. They kept beating me because, for them, I was a prize. I woke up in some ruined house, lying half-naked on rocks, surrounded by Hamas terrorists. I had to beg not to be raped, telling them I was on my period. At first they didn’t understand if I was on my period or pregnant, but nevertheless that made them leave me alone. They threw a hijab and dress at me and ordered me to get dressed. I didn’t know exactly what had been done to my body in those lost minutes when I wasn’t conscious. But my soul already knew: nothing would ever be the same. I was suffering from a fractured jaw, a broken pelvis, ear damage from the explosions, and a burned leg. In 55 days in captivity, I lost 12 kilograms, which is around 24 pounds. They did not give me any medicine, no doctor came to see me, even though I told them I was suffering from colitis and anemia. The terrorists dictated everything: when we could talk, when we could go to the bathroom, when we could get up. They woke us up in the middle of the night for cruel interrogations. From the moment I was captured, the guards were with me all the time. They did not wear Hamas uniforms. They dressed like civilians. They told me that one of them is a math teacher and the other one is a lawyer. For 50 days, they made sure I could not escape. They told us all the time that we would be hostages for five, or even ten years.” When it was time to eat, they took a lot of food to their room. They had meat, rice, vegetables. At the same time, they left us with our meal, which contained sometimes as little as 10 chickpeas or a piece of dry flatbread, which wasn’t always well cooked. They transferred us to a hospital, now I know it was the Nasser hospital. They took us through the back entrance and walked us past all the civilians. In the hospital there was an area which was closed off and used only by Hamas, with an armed guard. They locked us in a room, where we met a third hostage. So, I left with a hole in my heart. I promised my friends I would do everything in my power to bring them home. And now, I am keeping that promise. People see my face and think I'm ‘free.’ But freedom is not a switch you can turn on and off. Trauma doesn't vanish once you're released. Now, with every siren, every rocket from Iran, Yemen, or Gaza, I'm thrown back into that hell. The difference is: I have a safe room. Matan doesn't. He's still in Gaza. I’m here not just for myself, but for every woman and man who didn’t make it home. For every voice which was ignored. For the 50 hostages still in Gaza. For their families. I’m calling on human rights groups, and everyone who claims to care: Stand with us. Speak up. Demand the truth. Because silence is betrayal.” 📷 WebTV UN

$AvivaKlompas's tweet photo. "They kept beating me because, for them, I was a prize. I woke up in some ruined house, lying half-naked on rocks, surrounded by Hamas terrorists." Stop what you're doing and read this testimony from former hostage Ilana Gritzewsky who just spoke before the UN Security Council: “They grabbed me by the hair, hit me in the stomach, causing me to lose my breath. They dragged me across the floor, lifted me, and threw me against the wall. They pointed guns at me, hit me, tried to film me with my phone. I raised my hands, told them I was Mexican, begged them not to hurt me, not to rape me, not to shoot me, just to let me go. The only thing I could think of was having my family see me end my life like this. The terrorists beat me, humiliated me, touched me all over, threw me on a motorcycle, and took me into Gaza.” On the way to Gaza, when they started to touch me and sexually abuse me, I passed out physically and mentally, I couldn't handle it anymore. I guess my body preferred to shut down. They kept beating me because, for them, I was a prize. I woke up in some ruined house, lying half-naked on rocks, surrounded by Hamas terrorists. I had to beg not to be raped, telling them I was on my period. At first they didn’t understand if I was on my period or pregnant, but nevertheless that made them leave me alone. They threw a hijab and dress at me and ordered me to get dressed. I didn’t know exactly what had been done to my body in those lost minutes when I wasn’t conscious. But my soul already knew: nothing would ever be the same. I was suffering from a fractured jaw, a broken pelvis, ear damage from the explosions, and a burned leg. In 55 days in captivity, I lost 12 kilograms, which is around 24 pounds. They did not give me any medicine, no doctor came to see me, even though I told them I was suffering from colitis and anemia. The terrorists dictated everything: when we could talk, when we could go to the bathroom, when we could get up. They woke us up in the middle of the night for cruel interrogations. From the moment I was captured, the guards were with me all the time. They did not wear Hamas uniforms. They dressed like civilians. They told me that one of them is a math teacher and the other one is a lawyer. For 50 days, they made sure I could not escape. They told us all the time that we would be hostages for five, or even ten years.” When it was time to eat, they took a lot of food to their room. They had meat, rice, vegetables. At the same time, they left us with our meal, which contained sometimes as little as 10 chickpeas or a piece of dry flatbread, which wasn’t always well cooked. They transferred us to a hospital, now I know it was the Nasser hospital. They took us through the back entrance and walked us past all the civilians. In the hospital there was an area which was closed off and used only by Hamas, with an armed guard. They locked us in a room, where we met a third hostage. So, I left with a hole in my heart. I promised my friends I would do everything in my power to bring them home. And now, I am keeping that promise. People see my face and think I'm ‘free.’ But freedom is not a switch you can turn on and off. Trauma doesn't vanish once you're released. Now, with every siren, every rocket from Iran, Yemen, or Gaza, I'm thrown back into that hell. The difference is: I have a safe room. Matan doesn't. He's still in Gaza. I’m here not just for myself, but for every woman and man who didn’t make it home. For every voice which was ignored. For the 50 hostages still in Gaza. For their families. I’m calling on human rights groups, and everyone who claims to care: Stand with us. Speak up. Demand the truth. Because silence is betrayal.” 📷 WebTV UN$