A Year After Their Release, Gali and Ziv Berman Still Fight to Reclaim Their Lives
Six well-developed paragraphs, one powerful story of survival.
The morning of October 7, 2023, began like any other on the quiet outskirts of Kibbutz Kfar Aza, a pastoral community along Israel’s southern border known for its close-knit families and gentle rhythms. But by mid-morning, that tranquility had been shattered by the unmistakable crack of gunfire and the chaos of an unprecedented terrorist incursion. For Gali and Ziv Berman, twin sisters who had grown up amid the kibbutz’s gardens and communal dining halls, that morning would become the defining before-and-after of their lives. Within hours, the two young women were not residents of a peaceful settlement but hostages, pulled from their home and dragged across the border into the labyrinthine tunnel networks of Gaza. Almost a year after their release, the twins remain in a struggle that is far quieter than the one that made headlines — a daily fight to rebuild a sense of normalcy that was violently stripped away in a single, horrifying morning.
Their ordeal, which the world watched unfold in painful fragments, is emblematic of a broader national trauma that continues to reverberate across Israel and within the Jewish diaspora. The Berman sisters were among the hundreds taken captive in the Hamas-led assault that killed some 1,200 people, a day that fundamentally altered the security calculus of the region. For the twins, those initial hours of captivity were a blur of adrenaline, fear, and the desperate need to comfort one another. Separated from their parents and the rest of their family in the chaos of the raid, they were transported into an environment entirely beyond their comprehension — a subterranean world of concrete, wires, and constant dread. The details of their captivity, shared in fragmented interviews following their release, describe a surreal existence marked by limited light, scarce food, and the gnawing uncertainty of whether they would ever see their loved ones again. It is a psychological weight that does not lift with the opening of a door; rather, it lingers, embedded in the body and the mind long after the physical chains are removed.
After weeks of agonizing negotiation, punctuated by a fragile ceasefire and a prisoner exchange deal brokered in late November 2023, the Berman sisters emerged from the shadows of Gaza into the blinding glare of international attention. Their release, captured in grainy images that circled the globe, showed two women walking with a mixture of exhaustion and relief, embraced by Red Cross officials before being transferred to Israeli forces. That moment of liberation was, for the public, the end of a harrowing story. For the Bermans, it was only the beginning of a new and complicated chapter. The immediate aftermath was a whirlwind of medical checks, reunions with tearful family members, and an outpouring of national support. But as the convoy of attention slowly moved on, the twins found themselves facing a more intimate challenge: coping with the profound dislocation of returning to a world that had continued spinning while they were held in stasis beneath the earth.
Now, more than a year later, the process of reintegration is proving to be a marathon rather than a sprint. Friends and mental health professionals who work with released hostages describe a phenomenon common among survivors of extended captivity: the acute difficulty of transitioning from a state of hyper-vigilance to one of safety. For the Berman sisters, this has manifested in a variety of ways — from difficulties sleeping in a quiet room to the overwhelming sensory assault of a crowded supermarket. The kibbutz where they grew up is no longer the sanctuary it once was; it stands partially in ruins, a monument to the violence of that day. Returning to live there has been emotionally fraught, as every corner holds a memory now tinged with grief. Many of their neighbors were murdered, others remain in captivity, and the community has scattered across temporary housing. In rebuilding their own lives, the twins have also had to confront the fragmented loss of the collective life they once knew, a double grief that complicates the simple narrative of a happy ending.
In the months since their release, the sisters have channeled a portion of their energy into advocacy, becoming reluctant public figures in a national campaign to secure the freedom of the remaining hostages. Their appearances, marked by a quiet but resolute composure, have served as a potent reminder of the human cost at the center of the conflict. Speaking to both domestic and international audiences, they have leveraged their personal story to shift the focus from political abstraction to tangible lives. Yet even as they speak with clarity about their mission, those close to them note that the public-facing resilience is a carefully calibrated performance. The trauma does not disappear; it is managed. The twins have reportedly sought ongoing psychological support, engaging in therapies designed to help process post-traumatic stress and to re-establish a sense of agency over their own bodies and decisions — autonomy that was systematically denied to them during their captivity. The gap between the public image of survival and the private reality of recovery is a chasm they navigate daily.
Looking forward, the Berman sisters’ journey offers a powerful lens through which to understand the long arc of recovery from such an ordeal. There is no definitive end point to this process, no single moment when the past loses its grip. Instead, there are incremental victories: a first night of uninterrupted sleep, a walk along the beach without looking over a shoulder, the quiet comfort of a meal shared with family. Their story is a testament to human endurance, but it is also a stark reminder of the generational impact of trauma. As the first anniversary of their release passes, the twins are not merely marking time; they are actively, painstakingly constructing a new definition of home, safety, and self. Their struggle, deeply personal, resonates far beyond the borders of their small community — a shared document of resilience for a nation still wrestling with the aftermath of its darkest day, and a testament to the unyielding will to live that defines the human spirit.
