'I want children to know what it felt like to be held hostage': Keith Siegel speaks out

Since returning from captivity in Gaza, I have been trying to relearn how to live. To be a husband, a father, a grandfather and a member of my family again. To return to the small things that once seemed obvious. Sitting with my family, leaving the house, making plans for tomorrow. But coming home does not erase what happened, nor does it bring us back to the lives we had before October 7. For 484 days, I was held hostage in Gaza. Days during which my freedom, my sense of security and even my ability to make the most basic decisions about my own life were taken from me. During that time, my family was forced to confront an unimaginable reality. My wife, Aviva, who was abducted alongside me and released before I was, returned home but continued to live with the reality of my captivity every passing day. I came home to a family that had been waiting for me, but also to a family that had endured an incredibly difficult period of its own. We have all changed. There is a deep desire to return to life, to enjoy simple moments and to be together again. But there are also memories, pain and struggles that do not end on the day you come home. Recovery is a long process, and even the smallest things can be challenging. I share this because I want people to understand that the story of October 7 did not end when I was released from captivity. It continues to affect me and my family every day, just as it does thousands of others who experienced that terrible day and the difficult period that followed. Each of them has a different story. Some lost the people they loved most. Others hid for hours as terrorists moved around their homes. Some survived the massacre at the Nova music festival. Others fought to defend their families and communities. There were also members of the security and emergency services who, during those terrible hours, risked their lives and struggled to save others. Each carries a part of that day's story, a part that no one else can tell in their place. There is no single story of October 7 Twenty years from now, when children in Israel learn about October 7, what will they know about what happened to us? They will certainly learn about the attack, those who were murdered, the abductions and the war. They will see photographs and videos and hear about decisions that were made and failures that occurred. But I also want them to know what a mother felt as she sat with her children in a safe room, hearing terrorists outside the door. What a family went through when they did not know whether they would ever see their loved ones again. What it means to be held hostage, cut off from the world and the people you love, without knowing whether you will ever return. Our national memory cannot be built solely on headlines, ceremonies and memorials. It must also be built on the voices of the people who were there, because there is no single story of October 7. There are thousands of stories, and each one is part of the truth. In the coming years, books will be written, films will be made and memorial ceremonies will be held. All of these are important, but I believe that we, the people who experienced these events, must play a central role in shaping how they are remembered. Not everyone who was affected is able or willing to speak, and the decision not to share or talk about what happened must also be respected. But those who choose to tell their stories must be given the space to do so in their own way and in their own words. In captivity, I was stripped of control over my life. Today, as a free man once again, I can choose when to speak, what to share and how to tell the story of what I went through. That choice has enormous meaning for me. More than just a date in the history books This is one of the reasons I chose to take part in the "Salon Otef" initiative, led by the organization "255," of which I am a member. The organization brings together returned hostages and their families, supports them through the complex challenges that continue long after they return home, and works to ensure that our stories are heard in our own voices and told in the ways we choose. Through Salon Otef, hundreds of survivors, returned hostages, family members and members of the security and emergency services meet with tens of thousands of people. Not through a television screen, but face to face. People sit together, listen and ask questions. It is precisely through these personal encounters that people can understand things that are difficult to convey in a newspaper headline. This week, I will travel to Ethiopia, where I will hold a Salon Otef gathering with the Jewish and Israeli community in Addis Ababa. Alongside members of the public, diplomats, government representatives and civil society leaders will also attend. There, too, thousands of miles from Israel, I will speak about the abduction, captivity, coming home and life afterward. October 7 is part of the history of the State of Israel, but it is also part of the collective memory of the entire Jewish people. It is important to me that our stories reach Jewish and Israeli communities around the world, and that they hear them directly from those who lived through them. Three years have passed since October 7. For many of us, the struggle continues and will probably continue for many years to come. I do not know whether it is possible to become exactly the person I was before that day. But I do know that I want to keep living, to be with my family and to keep telling my story. I do not want October 7 to become just another date in the history books 20 years from now. I want future generations to know the people behind the numbers, the lives they led, what they endured and the journeys they have been on ever since. We cannot change what happened to us. But we have both a responsibility and a right to determine how our story is told and how it will be remembered. Keith Siegel was abducted from his home in Kfar Aza on October 7 and returned from captivity in Gaza after 484 days. This week, he will hold a special Salon Otef gathering for the Jewish and Israeli community in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.