A year later, the hostages in the Texas synagogue cope, continue

COLLYVILLE, TX — (AP) — A year ago, Jeff Cohen and three others survived a hostage standoff at their Reform Jewish synagogue in this suburb of Fort Worth.

However, their trauma did not disappear after the FBI killed the kidnapper armed with a gun, 44-year-old British citizen Malik Faisal Akram.

Healing from the ordeal of January 15, 2022 remains an ongoing process.

“Let’s be honest: we are healing. We are not healed,” said Cohen, 58, a Lockheed Martin engineer who is president of Beth Israel, a 140-family congregation.

The 10-hour standoff ended around 9 p.m. that Saturday when the remaining hostages, including Cohen, fled and the FBI task force shot and killed Akram.

The violence left the synagogue with broken doors and windows, shards of glass and bullet holes. Repairs were made within three months and the congregation returned. But a year later, the deep wounds are still festering.

“We have a lot of people who are still not feeling well,” Cohen said, as two other hostages, Lawrence Schwartz and Shane Woodward, nodded in the affirmative during a group interview at the synagogue. “We have parents who are not very comfortable taking their children to Sunday school.

“We have changed forever,” he added. “We had to get used to the fact that security is constantly present here.”

The recent surge of anti-Semitic rhetoric and action at the national level has reinforced both the congregation’s traumatic feelings and its determination to move forward without fear, said Anna Salton Eisen, founder of the synagogue and author of books about her Holocaust survivor parents.

“After the hostage crisis, I decided to go and try to use that, along with the Holocaust, as inspiration to fight against hate,” Eisen said.

It all started with a knock on the door. On a cold, windy Saturday, a homeless man showed up near Beth Israel.

The stranger immediately alarmed Schwartz, who was helping Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker prepare for the Sabbath morning service.

“I said, ‘I don’t like this,’” recalls the 87-year-old retired accountant who ran security at his previous synagogue. “I said, ‘Charlie, don’t open the door.’ He went ahead and opened it.”

The temperature fluctuated around zero, and because of the wind it was even colder. Cytron-Walker showed compassion for the stranger – this is what his Jewish faith calls for – and invited Akram inside. They chatted and the rabbi made tea for him.

Akram spent some time in homeless shelters in the Dallas area, but it wasn’t the cold that made him want to come to the synagogue.

“I didn’t have any indication that he intended to harm us until I heard the click of a gun an hour after I met him,” said Cytron-Walker, 47, who served at Beth Israel 16 years old.

This click came around 11:00 a.m. as Cytron-Walker was praying facing the front of the sanctuary.

The weather and the COVID-19 pandemic made few people that day. While the unknown number was looking online, only three other than the rabbi showed up in person: Cohen, Schwartz, and Woodward, who was a few minutes late.

Woodward, 47, listened to the first part of the service via Zoom on his drive. He heard Cytron-Walker mention a guest.

As he sat down, Woodward noticed Akram.

“I heard there is a lot of fidgeting going on. He kind of rustled back there,” said Woodward, who works at PepsiCo. “I waved to him and he was very polite. He waved back. He smiled and nodded. … We were just praying when it happened.”

During the standoff, Akram demanded the release of a Pakistani woman serving a lengthy prison sentence in Fort Worth after being found guilty of attempting to kill American soldiers.

According to the hostages, Akram referred to anti-Semitic stereotypes, believing that Jews had the power to free a woman.

“In CBI with a shooter,” Cohen wrote on Facebook. If I don’t come out, remember me. Fight hate.”

Schwartz apparently reminded Akram of his father, and the gunman started calling him “dad”. At some point, he obtained permission from his captor to use the restroom.

“He said, ‘I’ll let you go, but if you don’t come back, I’ll kill those three guys,'” Schwartz recalled.

About six hours into the standoff, Schwartz, who is hearing impaired, was told by his fellow hostages to leave. At first he didn’t understand. But they persuaded Akram to let him go.

At first, Schwartz was upset. He did not want to leave them, but later realized that without him they had a better chance.

“I can’t move very fast,” Schwartz said. “They could run. But not me.”

Woodward grew up a Baptist but was in the process of converting to Judaism. As the confrontation dragged on, he remarked, “Rabbi, I’m still converting.”

“There’s no guarantee we’ll get out of there, and that’s what crossed his mind,” Cytron-Walker said with a chuckle. “Jeff turned around and said, ‘What?’ Since we all got out, it’s really one of the fun moments.”

A few hours later, Akram became more and more agitated.

The fears of the hostages that he would shoot them intensified.

“He yelled at the negotiator, and when he hung up, he calmed down a lot,” Cytron-Walker said. “He turned to us and I thought we were about to die. He asked us for some juice.

After Cytron-Walker walked into the kitchen, Akram decided he needed a soda instead. The rabbi returned with a can of soda and a plastic cup.

That’s when the chance to escape appeared.

“He held the liquid with one hand,” Cytron-Walker said. “For the first time all day, he didn’t have his hand on the trigger.”

The rabbi shouted, “Run!” and threw a chair at Akram. They escaped through a side door.

Simultaneously, and unbeknownst to the hostages, an FBI team entered the building to try and rescue him. Like the rabbi, the authorities were concerned about Akram’s state of mind.

The hostages say that Akram tried to shoot at them while they were running, but his gun misfired.

“I know God has been with us,” Woodward said.

Before the confrontation, Cytron-Walker had already been interviewed for a new job as a rabbi at the Emanuel Temple in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. The hostage crisis delayed this process, but in July he began his new job.

Even at a distance of 1,100 miles, “the events of January 15 continue to affect almost every aspect of my life,” he said.

From the themes of his sermons to his speeches on anti-Semitism and his recent opportunity to light a menorah at a Hanukkah reception at the White House, the hostage crisis is significant, Cytron-Walker said.

“I don’t have nightmares or anything like PTSD,” he said. “I never know if it could happen at some point in time, but I’m very grateful that it hasn’t happened yet.”

A year later, the hostages are calling on other houses of worship to take security education seriously. Cytron-Walker believes he made it out safely.

But next time, Schwartz said, he’ll take action and call 911.

“I don’t care if the parishioners want to kick me out. I don’t care if the rabbi never wants to talk to me again,” said Schwartz, who now wears a custom-made yarmulke with “Stronger Than Hate” written on the back. “I should have operated on my thoughts, but I didn’t.”

But Cytron-Walker said he had no regrets about staying true to his faith.

“He looked like a bum, and I continue to live with the fact that I was fooled,” he said. “We need to be able to live our values, even when it’s difficult.”