S ome mornings I wake up and forget, for a split second, that I’m free. Then I remember the silence. The darkness. The wet concrete. And the two young men who were lying beside me, deep underground, who are still there. Their names are  Evyatar David  and  Guy Dalal . We were held together along with  Omer Wenkert  for eight and a half months in a Hamas tunnel—just 40 ft. long, less than 3 ft. wide. We slept on soaked mattresses, shared a single pita a day, and took turns whispering stories

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