DR. AYELET LEVY SHAHAR: A mother's message to America: Don't forget the hostages

More than 400 days and nights have passed since my then 19-year-old daughter Naama was taken hostage to Gaza. Naama is a fun-loving teenager, loved by all. She embodies values of kindness, tolerance, and compassion, volunteering at a kindergarten for the children of asylum seekers, and working to build bridges between Israeli and Palestinian children through the "Hands of Peace" organization. 

So much time has passed since that horrific Saturday when the world watched Hamas videos of armed terrorists brutally dragging a beaten and bloody Naama with six of her friends into the trunk of a Jeep that took them into Gaza, after forcing them to witness the murder of their friends.

The haunting images of that day still torment me with a helplessness that I had previously only felt in nightmares. We know she was wounded, and today she and the 100 other hostages remain in grave danger. Released hostages have confirmed our worst fears about the violence, physical and sexual abuse, starvation, and darkness in underground tunnels. Now, with winter's harsh cold setting in, their chances of survival under these inhumane conditions grow even more desperate.

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Recently, Naama spent her 20th birthday – a milestone that should mark a young woman stepping confidently into adulthood – underground, in a tunnel, surrounded by the Hamas terrorists who kidnapped her in her pajamas more than 400 days ago. 

Last November brought a glimmer of hope when 105 hostages, mostly women and children, were released and reunited with their families as part of the first and only hostage release deal. But Naama wasn't among them. Since then, despite numerous opportunities for additional deals, each failed negotiation has been another missed chance, another day of separation, another night of uncertainty.

Not one second has passed without my family and me fighting to bring Naama home. Each morning begins with the same desperate question: How do we save her? We are lucky to have tremendous support from our community, friends, family, and colleagues, which enables us to somehow maintain fragments of normalcy within this overwhelming chaos - essential for our daily survival.

For me, there's another vital anchor - my patients. As a family physician, my work is to listen to patients' difficulties and provide relief for their pain. During this terrible time, my medical clinic has become a sanctuary of purpose and stability.  I've found that addressing others' difficulties helps soothe my own personal anguish. 

At the beginning of our struggle - as hostage families - I wondered whether I could contain a patient's distress while my daughter endured real suffering. Some patients tiptoe into my office, apologizing for bothering me with something like a sore throat. The truth is, my ability to treat them actually helps me handle my own struggles.

Many understand the physical and psychological implications of prolonged captivity under extreme and very difficult conditions. Perhaps in my case, clinical knowledge and medical training make it even harder. It's not easy, but I must choose - as much as possible - where to direct my thoughts. Dwelling on the "unknown" only intensifies the difficulty.

 Unfortunately, the voice of the global medical community is barely heard. The Oct. 7 massacre, the hostages' health conditions, and the lack of medical access violate every international standard and law. I've met with both the Red Cross President and WHO Chairman on several occasions and was shocked  to find that the hostages' dire situation did not seem to be among their priorities. All they offered was a hug and a little empathy. While international organizations remain silent, we cannot afford to wait.

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I constantly imagine the moment of Naama's return and dream of our life together after this nightmare ends. These visions feel so real, so tangible. When I walk with Naama's younger sister through our neighborhood, I can't help but picture their reunion. At every step, every street corner, I imagine us together after she returns from that cursed place. Until then, I talk to Naama in my thoughts, telling her to stay strong, reminding her that she's a true survivor, and that beyond all this hardship and suffering lie the good days ahead - when she'll finally be free.

Time is running out. I implore both the current and incoming U.S. administrations to leave no stone unturned and use every avenue of influence at their disposal—these lives hang by a thread. To the American people, who have always stood for justice and human dignity: Your voice matters now more than ever. Do not let these hostages fade from your consciousness. Do not let their suffering become yesterday's news. Your support and advocacy could mean the difference between life and death for my daughter and the other hostages.