1 week ago
69
ARTICLE AD BOX
“You can’t unsee the sights,” a reporter friend had warned me.
By LIAT COLLINS DECEMBER 13, 2024 08:55 Updated: DECEMBER 13, 2024 08:56
BEN SHIMONI’S car, in which he carried out rescue missions until he was murdered on October 7, stands at the Tekuma memorial site.
(photo credit: LIAT COLLINS)
I made a trip to southern Israel last week – “The Trip” – a journey laden with emotional baggage. For the past 14 months, I had avoided visiting the area where the October 7, 2023, Hamas invasion and mega-atrocity took place. “You can’t unsee the sights,” a reporter friend had warned me.
Enough time had elapsed before last week’s tour, organized by the Journalists Association of Jerusalem, for me to consider a closer look at what happened on the most terrible day in Israeli history.
In addition, last month, I reviewed for The Jerusalem Report the extraordinary book by photojournalist Ziv Koren, The October 7 War. I had a better understanding of the need to record and document the events – the horrors and the heroism – as the narrative is already being hijacked.
Tour guide Ronit Liron presented facts, the history of the area, the events of October 7, and what had preceded them. This was not about politics and blame; it was about trying to understand the scope of the terrorists’ savagery, hearing about some of the hidden heroes of the day, and learning about the strategic importance of the Western Negev – to give “the Gaza border communities” its proper name.
That our first stop was just two hours’ travel time from Jerusalem was sobering. Hamas, Palestinian Islamic Jihad, and other terrorists had penetrated far into the country in what they called the Al-Aqsa Flood, ravaging communities on the way.
The first point on our itinerary delivered a punch in the gut. At Tekuma, the remains of some 1,500 vehicles, most of them scorched, are piled up in a steel mountain range. Each one, a testimony to lives lost or destroyed.As we entered the solemn site, one of the first things we saw was the burnt-out shell of an ambulance where some 20 people had been murdered as they sought safety.
I felt as if I was walking on hallowed ground and had an urge to place a pebble at the central memorial and say Kaddish, the mourner’s prayer. Liron noted how ZAKA (identification, extraction, and rescue) teams had carefully checked the inside of every vehicle for blood and human remains before they were taken to the site.
Many of the cars belonged to revelers at the Supernova music festival; others came from kibbutzim or towns, or were caught on the roads in the attack. The terrorists had deliberately aimed their guns and RPGs at the vehicles’ gas tanks and motors.
As we stood by the wrecked remains of the car of Ben Shimoni, his father, Rafi, came over to tell his son’s story. Ben, easy-going and vivacious, had been born 31 years ago in Dugit, a Jewish fishing village in Gaza abandoned during the 2005 Israeli withdrawal. Rafi can be found at Tekuma most days, working on commemorative projects and talking about Ben.
Ben was one of the citizens posthumously awarded by the president for his heroism on that dark day. Instead of saving himself, he returned again and again to rescue as many people as he could from the rave until ultimately the terrorists caught up with him.
Stay updated with the latest news!
Subscribe to The Jerusalem Post Newsletter
Of the three people with him in the car on that final journey, one other was killed outright; one was badly wounded and abducted to Gaza, now presumed dead; while Romy Gonen, a beautiful young woman, remains in Hamas captivity.
Kibbutz Be’eri
THE NEXT stop was Kibbutz Be’eri, where we met resident and former Eshkol Regional Council head Avraham Dvori, known to all as Menscher. Menscher’s entire family, children and grandchildren, had been abroad celebrating an anniversary on October 7, but their homes were destroyed by the 340 terrorist invaders or in the tank battles to regain control of the kibbutz.
Menscher explained that the outward appearance of the buildings does not necessarily reflect the fate of the residents. Some homes were destroyed but people managed to escape; others seem intact but the people who lived there were tortured, murdered, or abducted.
We passed by rows of shelled remains of homes. Posters on the outside reflect who was killed and who was taken hostage. There are many names with which we have become familiar, such as Vivian Silver and Itay Svirsky, whose body was retrieved from Gaza the day before our visit. Menscher noted that the kibbutz is a traditional cooperative based on humane values; many of those killed or abducted had been active in coexistence projects and aiding Palestinians.
The booms of IDF fire in Gaza could occasionally be heard. It is painful to be in a kibbutz where there are few birds chirping and no children’s voices to be heard. But in the neglected gardens, some citrus trees bear fruit. A well-fed cat sought our affection.
There are signs of life and rejuvenation. Menscher said he is confident that many of the residents will eventually return and rebuild the community. But the kibbutz can never recover while there are members still held hostage, he said.
He took us to a memorial hall established in the auditorium where, just the evening before October 7, the kibbutz had celebrated its 77th anniversary. Be’eri lost 101 out of its 600 members in what Menscher referred to as Ha’irua – “The Event.”
It’s hard to find the right word for the savagery of that day. What word describes an 85-year-old grandmother hacked to death in her home? Or entire families bound and burned to death? The hall has personalized memorials for the kibbutz members, telling their individual stories and featuring favorite items – a surfboard, motorbike helmet, chess set, and – chillingly – children’s toys. The youngest victim was just one year old.
Nova Music Festival
FROM BE’ERI, we traveled to the site of the Supernova music festival at Re’im, where more than 360 were killed. The Supernova site has developed over the past year. Posts display photos of smiling young faces and stories of the victims. They are decorated with items like scarves of favorite football teams – I notice rival teams on adjacent posts.
I stopped to read the story of a Bedouin policeman killed during rescue efforts. Everywhere there are the ceramic red anemones – the flower that symbolized the region in peacetime and has come to symbolize the victims of October 7, when, all together, some 1,200 were murdered and 250 abducted.
Our journey also took us to the spot outside the library in Sderot, where terrorists mowed down 15 pensioners from Ofakim on an outing to the Dead Sea after their bus had a flat tire. We also stopped at “Aner’s migunit,” where 27 people crammed into the tiny roadside shelter seeking safety during the rocket attacks after fleeing from the Supernova festival. Only seven survived.
It was here that 22-year-old unarmed soldier Aner Shapira courageously threw back at the terrorists seven grenades that had been tossed into the confined space. The eighth grenade exploded in his hands and killed him. His friend Hersh Goldberg-Polin, badly wounded, was dragged away by terrorists. He was executed by Hamas in a terror tunnel in September, along with five other hostages.
Several of the journalists with me knew Ayelet Arnin, a young editor at the KAN public broadcasting company, who was among the victims in the shelter. The walls are covered with commemorative stickers and slogans, while memorial candles have been lit on the floor.
The sense of fear seems to be trapped inside the cement walls. On a hilltop observation point in Sderot – which serves as a memorial to four soldiers killed in a Hamas ambush during Operation Protective Edge in 2014 – we looked out toward Gaza, where smoke can be seen rising from Jabalya. Did it give me joy? No. But I’d rather see smoke where the terror tunnels are being destroyed than charred homes in Israel in the future.
Sderot has erected an impressive 18-column memorial on the grounds of the former police station. The police station, overrun by terrorists, was completely destroyed on October 7. At least 50 civilians and 20 police officers were killed in the town; their names and stories are recorded at the site. A group of young girls sat nearby singing Hebrew songs. Remarkably, the city has not only returned to life but is growing – more than 1,000 new residents have moved in over the last year.
When I set out, I had been wary of a voyeuristic tour, but I returned with fresh insights and the biblical commandment Zachor – “Remember” – echoing in my head. While memorials serve as silent witnesses, it is the duty of the living to speak out.
English (US) ·