COLLEYVILLE, Texas (AP) 鈥 A year ago, Jeff Cohen and three others survived a hostage standoff at their Reform Jewish synagogue in this Fort Worth suburb.
Their trauma did not disappear, though, with the FBI鈥檚 killing of the pistol-wielding captor, 44-year-old .
Healing from the Jan. 15, 2022, ordeal remains an ongoing process.
鈥淟et鈥檚 be blunt: We鈥檙e healing. We鈥檙e not healed,鈥 said Cohen, 58, a Lockheed Martin engineer who serves as president of Congregation Beth Israel and its 140-family membership.
The 10-hour standoff ended about 9 p.m. that Saturday as the remaining hostages 鈥 including Cohen 鈥 escaped and the FBI鈥檚 tactical team gunned down Akram.
The violence left the synagogue with broken doors and windows, shattered glass and bullet holes. Within three months, and the congregation returned. But one year later, deep wounds still fester.
鈥淲e have a lot of people who are still feeling it bad,鈥 Cohen said as two fellow hostages, Lawrence Schwartz and Shane Woodward, nodded affirmatively in a group interview at the synagogue. 鈥淲e have parents who aren鈥檛 very comfortable bringing their kids to Sunday school.
鈥淲e鈥檙e forever changed,鈥 he added. 鈥淲e鈥檝e had to get used to having security here all the time.鈥
The nationally has intensified both the congregation鈥檚 traumatic feelings and its resolve to move forward without fear, said Anna Salton Eisen, a founder of the synagogue and author of books about her .
鈥淎fter the hostage crisis, I鈥檓 inspired to go out and try to use this, along with the Holocaust, as an inspiration to fight hate,鈥 Eisen said.
It all started with a knock at the door. On a cold, windy Saturday, a man who appeared homeless showed up outside Beth Israel.
The stranger immediately unsettled Schwartz, who was helping Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker prepare for the morning Shabbat service.
鈥淚 said, 'I don鈥檛 like this,'鈥 recalled the retired accountant, 87, who helped lead security for his previous synagogue. 鈥淚 said, 鈥楥harlie, don鈥檛 open the door.鈥 He went ahead and opened it.鈥
The temperature hovered near freezing and the wind made it feel even colder. Cytron-Walker showed the stranger compassion 鈥 as his Jewish faith calls him to do 鈥 and invited Akram inside. They chatted and the rabbi made him tea.
Akram had spent time in Dallas-area homeless shelters, but the cold wasn鈥檛 why he wanted to come in the synagogue.
鈥淚 had no indication that he was intending to do us harm until I heard the click of a gun, which was an hour after I met him,鈥 said Cytron-Walker, 47, who had served at Beth Israel for 16 years.
That click came at about 11 a.m. as Cytron-Walker prayed facing the front of the sanctuary.
The weather and the COVID-19 pandemic made for a light in-person crowd that day. While an unknown number watched online, just three besides the rabbi came in person: Cohen, Schwartz and Woodward, who arrived a few minutes late.
Woodward, 47, listened to the first part of the service via Zoom on his drive. He heard Cytron-Walker mention the guest.
After taking a seat, Woodward noticed Akram.
鈥淚 did hear a lot of fidgeting going on. He was kind of rustling around back there,鈥 said Woodward, who works for PepsiCo. 鈥淚 waved to him, and he was very polite. He waved back. He smiled, nodded. 鈥 We were in the middle of praying when it happened.鈥
During the standoff, Akram demanded the release of a Pakistani woman serving a lengthy prison sentence in Fort Worth after being convicted of trying to kill U.S. troops.
The hostages said Akram cited antisemitic stereotypes, believing that Jews wield the kind of power that could get the woman released.
鈥淎t CBI with a gunman,鈥 Cohen posted on Facebook. 鈥淚f I don鈥檛 get out, remember me. Fight hate.鈥
Schwartz apparently reminded Akram of his father, and the gunman started calling him 鈥淒ad.鈥 At one point, he got his captor鈥檚 permission to use the restroom.
鈥淗e said, 鈥業鈥檒l let you go, but if you don鈥檛 come back, I鈥檓 going to kill these three guys,鈥欌 Schwartz recalled.
About six hours into the standoff, his fellow hostages told Schwartz, who has hearing problems, to leave. He didn鈥檛 understand at first. But they had talked Akram into releasing him.
Initially, Schwartz was upset. He didn鈥檛 want to leave them behind, but later realized they stood a better chance without him.
鈥淚鈥檓 not able to move very fast,鈥 Schwartz said. 鈥淭hey could run. But not me.鈥
Woodward grew up Baptist but was in the process of converting to Judaism. As the standoff dragged on, he remarked, 鈥淩abbi, I鈥檓 still converting.鈥
鈥淭here is no guarantee that we were getting out of there, and this is what was going through his mind,鈥 Cytron-Walker said with a chuckle. 鈥淛eff turned around and said, 鈥榃hat?鈥 Since we all got out, it鈥檚 really one of the humorous moments.鈥
Hours later, Akram was becoming more agitated.
The hostages鈥 fears that he would shoot them increased.
鈥淗e was yelling at the negotiator, and when he hung up, he got really calm,鈥 Cytron-Walker said. 鈥淗e turned to us, and I thought that we were going to die. He asked us for some juice.鈥
After Cytron-Walker walked to the kitchen, Akram decided he wanted a soda instead. The rabbi returned with a can of soda and a plastic cup.
That鈥檚 when the chance to escape came.
鈥淗e was holding on to the liquid with one hand,鈥 Cytron-Walker said. 鈥淔or the first time all day, he did not have his hand on the trigger.鈥
The rabbi yelled 鈥淩un!鈥 and threw a chair at Akram. They escaped through a side door.
Simultaneously and unknown to the hostages, the FBI team entered the building to attempt a rescue. Like the rabbi, the authorities were concerned about Akram鈥檚 state of mind.
The hostages say Akram attempted to shoot at them as they ran but his pistol misfired.
鈥淚 know God was with us,鈥 Woodward said.
Before the standoff, Cytron-Walker had already interviewed for a new job as rabbi at Temple Emanuel in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. The hostage crisis delayed that process, but he .
Even 1,100 miles away, 鈥渢he events of Jan. 15 continue to impact almost every aspect of my life,鈥 he said.
From his sermon topics to his speaking engagements on antisemitism to his recent opportunity to light the menorah at the , the hostage crisis figures heavily, Cytron-Walker said.
鈥淚鈥檓 not having nightmares or anything that would resemble PTSD,鈥 he said. 鈥淚 never know if that could come up at some point in time, but I鈥檓 very thankful that it hasn鈥檛 as of yet.鈥
A year later, the hostages urge other houses of worship to take security training seriously. Cytron-Walker credits it with getting out safely.
But next time, Schwartz said, he would act on his concern and call 911.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 care if the congregation wants to throw me out. I don鈥檛 care if the rabbi never wants to talk to me again,鈥 said Schwartz, who now wears a custom-made yarmulke with the message 鈥淪tronger Than Hate鈥 on the back. 鈥淚 should have operated on my thoughts, and I didn鈥檛.鈥
But Cytron-Walker said he does not regret abiding by his faith.
鈥淗e looked like he was a homeless man, and I continue to live with the fact that I was fooled,鈥 he said. 鈥淲e have to be able to live our values even when they鈥檙e hard.鈥
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