Amish culture discourages technology, avoids contemporary distractions, and purposefully minimizes outside influence. Not all of Eli Weaver agreed. He purchased a cellphone covertly and used the blatant alias “Amish Stud” to sign up for dating apps. His dual life devolved into something remarkably sinister for a man sworn to simplicity.
Barbara Weaver was renowned for being steadfast, devoted, and deeply religious. She had five kids, was very involved in her church, and friends say she genuinely wanted to keep her marriage together, even though there were rumors of Eli’s lack of focus. She reportedly told a friend that she had forgiven his previous infidelity because she thought people could change. She would be destroyed by that belief.
| Name | Eli Weaver |
|---|---|
| Background | Amish man from Apple Creek, Ohio; part of the conservative Andy Weaver group |
| Key Event | Involved in the 2009 murder of his wife, Barbara Weaver |
| Co-Conspirator | Barbara Raber, his mistress and former Amish driver |
| Legal Outcome | Pleaded guilty to complicity to murder; sentenced to 15 years to life |
| Current Status | Incarcerated at Grafton Correctional Institution; next parole hearing April 2032 |
| External Link | A&E Feature on Eli Weaver |
Eli turned to someone outside the Ordnung because he was unwilling to abandon the Amish way but equally unwilling to remain faithful. Before becoming a Mennonite, Barbara Raber was an Amish woman who worked as a driver for Amish households. She never questioned them while picking them up and driving them to appointments. When Eli started traveling with her—often—that changed.
Their liaison grew rapidly. They exchanged texts that showed something more than just lust—it was strategy. That’s chilling. Ideas that Eli floated included pushing Barbara off a cliff, poisoning, and a gas leak. At first, it all seemed hypothetical. However, it wasn’t. On June 2, 2009, Raber entered the Weaver residence through an unlocked door and used a.410-gauge shotgun to shoot Barbara in the chest as Eli and his friends embarked on a meticulously planned fishing trip.
I couldn’t let go of the unlocked door; it was one of those details. A seemingly insignificant detail that painfully represented the faith Barbara maintained despite impending danger.
Authorities moved swiftly. There was a disturbingly obvious motive and a weak alibi. Little doubt was left in the texts that were recovered from Raber’s phone. While some messages resemble love letters, others read like blueprints. They were flirting one moment and plotting Eli’s wife’s murder the next. The contrast was eerie.
When asked, Raber said she just intended to frighten Barbara. The gun “just went off,” she maintained. The jury and investigators didn’t believe it. She was found guilty of aggravated murder in September 2009 and given a sentence of 23 years to life. Reducing his sentence in exchange for testifying against her was Eli’s more strategic move. He was sentenced to 15 to life after entering a guilty plea to complicity.
Eli greatly decreased his legal exposure by using his cooperation. But his role didn’t feel any less moral.
The neighborhood, which was peaceful, close-knit, and largely unaffected by violent crime, was taken aback. In more than 250 years, there had only been two cases like this. The third case was Weaver’s. It was not only unimaginable, but extremely embarrassing. Any form of violence is considered a violation of Ordnung by the Amish, but a man planning his wife’s murder in order to have a covert sexual life? It was incomprehensible.
Eli had more than one affair. Using burner phones, aliases, and online dating services, he made connections with women all over the nation. Investigators were later informed by one of them that he was a widower. Another claimed he made a vow to divorce his wife but never did. Some women thought he was flirting. Others perceived him as a man experiencing a spiritual crisis.
His profile revealed one of the more disturbing facts: “Amish Stud.” The performance was just as important as the name. Wearing his identity as a costume, he charmed outsiders with the seeming innocence of Amish life. The double life he had created seemed almost proud of him in that role.
The real cost of that performance, however, was two adults in prison cells who blamed each other and five children left without their mother.
Raber is currently incarcerated at the Ohio Reformatory for Women and won’t be able to be released until 2032. Eli is still incarcerated at Grafton Correctional Institution and is waiting for a potential hearing. Their relationship had been broken after mutual betrayal, and they had not spoken for years.
When Lifetime turned the case into a television movie called Amish Stud: The Eli Weaver Story in 2023, it attracted new attention. It highlighted the cultural tension, the emotional fissures, and the slow, purposeful disintegration of a family that was supposed to be rooted in faith. Additionally, it renewed interest in A Killing in Amish Country, a book that carefully and thoroughly examined the crime.
When a crime occurs in an unexpected place, it has a particularly eerie quality. It might be because it serves as a reminder that the human condition is incredibly unpredictable, even behind the most tranquil exteriors. Individuals have secrets. There are those who are passive. Others—extremely active.
Since then, the Amish community has made an effort to move on discreetly, rebuilding trust and upholding morals. However, to outsiders, the Weaver story is still a warning tale—one that endures because it originated in a place where such an incident shouldn’t have occurred.