DIMONA, Israel (AP) — During his two years in captivity in Gaza, Segev Kalfon had a recurring dream: walking slowly through a supermarket, browsing each aisle for his favorite foods, savoring the brightly colored packaging and smells.
Since his release on October 13, his dreams have been flipped: Most nights, when he closes his eyes, he returns to a filthy foam mattress in the 2-square-meter (22-square-foot) room in the Hamas tunnels where he and five other hostages are held, counting every tile and crack in the cement to distract himself from crippling hunger and near-daily physical torture.
“I was at the lowest, lowest point a person can be before I died,” said Calfond, 27. “I couldn’t control anything, not when I ate, when I showered, how much I wanted to eat.” During the worst days of his captivity, he was so thin that he could count every vertebra sticking out of his spine.
Now back home in Dimona, southern Israel, Kalfon is trying to rebuild his life after captivity. Much of his time was spent in appointments with a series of doctors and psychologists.
Calfon said one of the strangest aspects of his release was that for two years his entire life revolved around pleasing his captors so they might share more food or be spared a beating. Now that he’s out, “everyone wants to please me,” he said.
From family bakery to Hamas authentic
Before being taken hostage at the Nova Music Festival, Kalfon worked in his family’s bakery in the town of Arad and studied finance and investing.
When the Hamas attacks began on Oct. 7, 2023, rockets began flying, and Kalfoun said he and his closest friends tried to help others during the holiday escape. Calfon remembers pleading with a group of people hiding in a yellow dumpster, telling them to come with him because they were in a death trap. For two years, Calfon wondered what happened to them. After his release, he learned that they had all been killed.
Militants led by Hamas killed about 1,200 people and took about 250 hostages in cross-border attacks that day. Subsequent Israeli offensives have killed more than 71,000 Palestinians in Gaza, according to the Gaza Ministry of Health, which does not distinguish between civilians and combatants in its statistics. The ministry, part of the Hamas government, keeps detailed casualty records that are generally considered reliable by U.N. agencies and independent experts.
Calfond said every moment in captivity “feels like an eternity.” The only thing that breaks the monotony is a small amount of food and water once a day.
There were many times when he felt like he was on the verge of death: from frequent bombings by the Israeli army, from contracting COVID-19 and other illnesses without medication, from enduring hunger and frequent physical torture. He said the kidnappers used bicycle chains as whips to beat the hostages while wearing large rings that left painful scars.
“We don’t even have the energy to shout because no one hears you,” he said. “You’re in a tunnel 30 meters underground; no one knows what’s going on.”
Calfon said the worst part was the last three months of his captivity, when he was isolated and felt like he was losing his mind.
In the darkest places, faith brings a ray of light
Kalfan and his family advocated for his release in Israel and turned further to their Jewish faith to survive the dark times. Kalfond’s family filled their home with extra Jewish books, ritual objects and prayers from senior rabbis.
Kalfon and five other hostages had a tradition of marking the beginning of the Jewish holiday, or Sabbath, by praying with a little water and moldy pita bread.
The hostages used a precious piece of toilet paper, a roll that lasted six people for two months, as a ceremonial toque traditionally worn by Jewish men during prayer.
The kidnappers gave the hostages a radio in the hope that recordings of the Quran would convert them to Islam and sometimes allow them to pick up signals from Israeli news.
At one point, when Kalfond was at his lowest and contemplating running away (which would likely result in his death), he turned on the radio and heard his mother’s voice. He said it felt like a divine message, let’s hold on a little longer.
“I’m living in a dead man’s body, in a tomb,” Calfond said. “To come out of this tomb is nothing short of a miracle.”
Karl was released along with 19 other hostages as part of a U.S.-brokered ceasefire. He considers US President Donald Trump a “messenger of God” and is convinced no one else can stop the fighting. His family hung nearly a dozen American flags around the house in recognition of the country’s contribution to his return.
“The war begins in my soul”
Back home, Kalfun was adjusting to his new life and became famous as his name and face spread throughout Israel during the battle to free the hostages.
“Everyone wants to support me and say, ‘You’re such a hero,'” Calfoun said. “I don’t feel like a hero. Everybody wants to survive.”
Kalfond knew he had a long road to recovery after years in captivity and had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder before he was abducted.
“While the war in Gaza is over, now my war is starting in my soul, trying to process those very difficult thoughts,” he said.
He tries to keep his schedule busy to distract himself.
“But every night when I’m alone, it comes up,” Calfond said. Even the smallest noise wakes him up and throws him into horrific flashbacks, so he can barely fall asleep.
In the near future, he wants to share his story more widely. He said he has been alarmed by the rise in anti-Semitism and anti-Israel fervor around the world since his arrest and wants to make sure his story is heard, especially by those who tear down hostage posters or accuse Israel of lying.
“I am proof that this happened,” he said. “I feel it with my body. I see it with my own eyes.” ___
Associated Press writer Sam Mednick contributed in Tel Aviv, Israel.
