The silence shattered before she spoke. Emily Damari, a 28-year-old survivor of 471 days in Hamas captivity, stood before a hushed audience at Temple Emanu-El in New York City, and a standing ovation erupted – before a single word left her lips. Her story, forged in unimaginable horror, was about to unfold.
On October 7th, the nightmare began. Hamas terrorists stormed her home in Kibbutz Kfar Aza, breaching the safety of her safe room. The first act of brutality was swift and shocking: a gunshot to her hand. Then, a senseless act of cruelty – the murder of her beloved dog, shot in the head before her eyes.
As she was dragged towards Gaza, a desperate plea escaped her lips. “Please, shoot me,” she begged, recognizing the abyss that awaited her. “I don’t want to be a hostage.” But her plea was ignored, and she was forced across the border, into a living hell.
Inside Shifa Hospital in Gaza, the reality defied international narratives. It wasn’t a civilian medical facility, but a stronghold. “You always see on Al Jazeera… saying there’s a civilian hospital,” she revealed, her voice steady. “It’s not a civilian hospital.” She encountered “Dr. Hamas,” armed terrorists, dead bodies, and a chilling disregard for human life.
For over fifteen months, Damari endured a brutal existence, shifting between over thirty locations – apartments, schools, tunnels, even a tire storage room. Basic necessities were denied; days passed without a shower, water was scarce, and sanitation was nonexistent. She slept in cramped, filthy conditions, often without even a toilet.
The most haunting memory surfaced when she was taken deep underground. There, in a small cage, she saw them: kidnapped girls, including a child of just nine years old, separated from her parents. “It was one of the most painful things that I saw in captivity,” she recalled, the image forever seared into her mind.
The constant threat of sexual violence loomed over every moment. “You go to sleep every night… with that fear, that they are going to rape you,” she confessed, speaking to the unique terror faced by women held captive. Despite it all, she refused to be broken.
Damari fiercely resisted her captors’ attempts to dehumanize her. When they called her a “prisoner,” she challenged them. “If you call me a prisoner, why do I not get three meals a day? Why don’t I get to speak with my mother?” She demanded basic rights, a defiant act of self-preservation.
She observed, with growing disbelief, Al Jazeera broadcasts playing on battery-powered televisions. The American campus protests, particularly at Columbia University, stunned her. “I couldn’t believe watching the protests in the USA,” she said, “Students protesting and people demonstrating for something they knew nothing about.”
As a gay woman forced to conceal her identity, she was particularly struck by the presence of LGBTQ activists protesting in support of Hamas. She even confronted her captor, stating that those “Queers for Palestine” wouldn’t survive a moment in Gaza, a sentiment the terrorist chillingly agreed with.
Damari and the other hostages clung to hope, fueled by the weekly demonstrations in Israel. “We waited every week for that Shabbat… it was one of the biggest lights for us,” she explained. Knowing they hadn’t been forgotten sustained them through the darkest hours.
The agonizing uncertainty about her family’s fate haunted her. Terrorists had come dangerously close to her mother and brother’s homes. A fleeting glimpse of a television broadcast, showing a poster of her face in the Knesset, brought the first confirmation: her mother was alive.
The relief was overwhelming when, upon her return to Israel, she learned her brother was also safe. “That was the moment I finally allowed myself to breathe,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
True freedom didn’t arrive until the release of her friends, Gali and Ziv Berman, in the final hostage deal. Until then, she couldn’t fully embrace the joy of being home. “I didn’t feel comfortable seeing the sunset… while they were still there.”
Now, she feels “amazing,” driven by a profound purpose. “I think there’s a reason that God chose me to have this horrible experience… I have the opportunity to speak with the world… and to share my story.” She is writing a book, determined to ensure the world understands the truth.
Her plea is simple, yet urgent: do not forget the four hostages still held in Gaza. “Everyone should have their dignified burial,” she said, her voice filled with unwavering resolve. The fight for their return, and for justice, continues.
