Testimony at 17: “We spent 28 hours in that shelter, without water and food, without electricity, without protection, awaiting death!”

6:28 AM. Siren. Siren. Siren. Oddness. Fear. Horror. Security camera. Silence. Noise. Explosions. Hatred. Blood. Death. Guilt.

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PREMATURE AGING

These are the elements of a dark day that has already entered the history of the harshest attacks on Israelis, from the Holocaust to the present day.

A group of 11 young people came to Romania in mid-March to “relax.” They were sent here on the Israeli state’s dime to offer these 16-18-year-old survivors of the October 7, 2023 Hamas attack the chance to detach from the event that deeply marked them.

I met them in the lobby of Hotel Minerva to remind that day, and it was much more impressive than I initially thought.

Their eyes had one of immense sadness. Their smiles and deliberately nonchalant attitudes, like carefree teenagers, were nothing but masks of profound pain, a wall built during this time to hide that their souls are shattered. Their innocence was stolen, and the guilt of being alive is the dominant feeling for all of them.

“That morning I heard something strange. There were explosions I hadn’t heard before. I don’t know how to explain to make myself understood, but it was strange. My dog ​​went crazy, he was very agitated. I was alone with my sister at home. My parents were on a short vacation. We blocked everything. My dad had told me to do this when I called him and told him something was wrong. Then I made it look like we weren’t home. We closed the windows, drew the curtains, and locked everything we could. But we had a door we couldn’t lock. It was broken. So I knew that if they came, my sister and I would face them, the terrorists.

At one point, they started throwing small rocks at our windows. We had a pile of rocks by the window. Then everything started to get weird, and I called everyone I could to tell them we needed help. I sent messages to everyone and then we had no power. Everything was disconnected. That’s when I told my sister: This is the last sight you’ll see in your life. We were terrified,” Hila told me, trying to hide her emotion.

After managing to leave the kibbutz, crammed into a car with nothing but a toothbrush, she ended up somewhere in the desert, where she stayed for a week. It would take until she reached home with her family.

“I don’t have a home now. The hotel is not my home,” she confesses lost.

At 16 and a half, to say that you are no longer interested in the future and that nothing attracts you anymore from what interested you before October 7 is dramatic. At this tender age, to come to the conclusion that everything is so fragile, that a world can crumble in an instant, and that no effort is worthwhile becomes a dangerous philosophy.

“My life was torn in two. In a way, I lived before and differently now. Until October 6, I was a straight-A student. I try to do my best at school, but – honestly – I’m not interested anymore. From what I experienced, I understand that everything is very fragile, that everything can collapse in a moment. And then, what’s the point? Nothing makes sense anymore. After… it’s nothing like before,” the teenager confides, adding softly, “I’m aging!”

The habit of young people in the kibbutzim near the Gaza Strip border was that when the alarms sounded, they would go out of the house to see the rockets fly. They thought it was cool, likening this rocket flight from one side to the other to fireworks.

“I DON’T WANT TO LIVE IN FEAR!”

Talia, a 16 and a half-year-old, explained to me that everything that happened on that October morning changed her way of being. She dreams almost every night that she is taken by terrorists and has a terrible fear of going home.

“I was stressed. I had never heard explosions like those before. Someone sent us a message on the kibbutz’s group chat that we should go inside and lock our doors because they were afraid the Palestinians would come over us. We went to the bunker in the house. Then the gunfire started. A lot. And our fear grew even bigger when we heard banging on the door. Fortunately, it was Ben from security, not the terrorists. He brought Amir with him, who had been shot. My brother and I were sent back to the bunker, and my parents stayed to help Amir. The whole floor was covered in Amir’s blood, who unfortunately didn’t make it. He was a good man, I knew him. His wife was pregnant. It was terrible. I was shocked. The shootings didn’t stop. At one point a rocket was thrown right into our house. There was a lot of smoke, some shards injured us. It was all a nightmare. We spent over 7 hours in the security room, I believe,” Talia told me, adding that she still doesn’t understand what happened that day.

“At first, after we managed to leave the kibbutz, I tried to convince myself that nothing had happened. Basically, I denied what happened then. Honestly, I don’t want to be scared. I want to live without fear, free. But I can’t. I still dream that the terrorists come into the house and take me with them. I’m trying to get my life back. I hope I succeed,” Talia added with a smile.

“GUILTY FOR BEING ALIVE”

In the program prepared for the Israeli youth in Bucharest, there was also participation in the Chamber of Deputies, in the simulation of the trial of Adolf Eichmann, the de facto leader of the Nazi genocide. Here, they had the opportunity to meet Romanian young people and tell them what they experienced a few months ago.

“They didn’t believe what they heard from us. I had the impression that they thought we were making it up,” Aviv Amitai told me, who is 17 years old and who lived in the nearest community to the Gaza Strip border.

“I woke up at 6:28 in the morning to crazy explosions; it didn’t take me long to realize that this was not normal. You have to understand something: I grew up in a place constantly attacked by Hamas. I’m used to hearing gunfire, explosions, and sirens, but when this attack started, I knew it was different! My whole family went into the shelter, and the sirens didn’t stop. We stayed in that shelter for 28 hours, without water and food, without electricity, without protection, awaiting death. I felt so insecure, trapped in my darkness, unprotected, helpless, scared. My dad and older brother had to stay outside the shelter to protect us with their bodies from the terrorists trying to enter our house. There was no one to defend us.

Since that day, everything has changed. The feeling of losing so much in a moment is incomprehensible. Friends, neighbors, home, peace, safety, everything collapses in an instant. No one prepares you for that moment when you lose everything!

I remind you, I am 17 years old, I am still a child. I experienced things that no child my age should experience, things that no one should experience, regardless of age.

Three of my friends were killed, 17-year-olds who had been out fishing. They never came back. I’ve lost neighbors, people I’ve known for as long as I’ve known myself. The day before the attack, my little brother celebrated his bar mitzvah, and they celebrated with me, people whose celebration was the last, because the next day they were no longer with us. A few weeks later, I opened envelopes and blessings and read letters from the dead. I miss the people I will never see again, the moments that will never come back, the house, the routine, the little things, the feeling of safety.

Since October 7th, I haven’t been truly happy. Every moment of happiness is a battle of guilt. On October 7, I learned what real pain feels like, the one that burns in your bones, scorches your soul, doesn’t let you breathe, shakes the earth. I saw things no one should ever see, babies put in ovens and burned alive, women raped in front of their families, girls mutilated for hours until they bled to death, people mauled, entire families killed, women , men, children, babies, adults, without any distinction.

Hamas terrorists slaughtered us.

Since October 7, I feel guilty. Guilty that I live, guilty that I stayed safe. Since October 7th, I have so many questions. Why me? Why was I given the right to continue living? Why aren’t they here anymore, what did I do that they didn’t? Since October 7, I am no longer a child. They took every bit of innocence left in me. Since October 7, I have lost hope. The hope that one day there will be peace, the hope to live together. From October 7, everything changed. It had a terrible impact on me. October 7 will always be a part of my life,” Aviv told me, trying to discreetly wipe away his tears.

A single day fractured the souls of these young people. How long will it take to heal?