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“Anyone would rather be dead than kidnapped, especially if you're a woman; so I prayed to die quickly.” – Written by Laura, a married 35-year-old Israeli hi-tech worker, producer of nature festivals and seven-year army veteran, living near Tel Aviv with her husband Shay.
We arrived at the area on Thursday, brought our camper van, and thought, this is so much fun. It’s a long weekend, a long festival, three days long. We woke up on Saturday at around 5 am, had coffee together, and were about to go to the dance area. I had just finished tying my shoelaces when I opened the door to the camper, and saw everyone looking up at the sky.
At that moment, the music stopped. They said there’s a Red Alert rocket siren and we have to leave the festival and lie down on the ground. When the rockets started falling, we ran outside. There’s no shelter, only open space, and you only have a 15-second warning to find cover.
After about 30 seconds, we started hearing bursts of gunfire and RPGs, explosions, machine guns, “Allahu Akbar.” Screaming, screaming, so much screaming. For about 10 minutes, we just lay there, and I thought I understood what I was hearing, but I really didn’t.
At 9:30, it became a bit quieter, and we realized that the shots we were hearing were confirmations of killing.
At 10:30, for the first time, a terrorist tried to pry open the door to our camper. He tried two, three times. Shay and I looked at each other. At that exact moment, they found someone alive outside. Someone who had run and escaped, so the terrorists ran after him. I heard them yell multiple times, “come here” in Arabic and then they shot him.
At 11:00, we started hearing more and more terrorists coming to the area. They were on ATVs, shooting into the air, honking, yelling “Allahu Akbar,” and we realized that they were taking over the area. Then they shot at the camper. Two bullets. One passed right over Shay’s head, the other hit the air conditioner.
Then one of them looked in through a window and saw us. That was the moment I realized it was over. I sent my contacts a message that we’d been found, that it was a matter of minutes. To tell my parents and siblings that I love them.
Shay looked at me and said he loves me, and I said I love him, and we said goodbye with our eyes. I thought it was the last time I’d ever see him and he’d ever see me. We parted with a glance, and then I closed my eyes.
And then I thought that when you’re dead, it doesn’t hurt you. It hurts everyone else. So I thought about my parents, and I thought about my siblings, and how would they manage without me. And then I was scared, I was scared that Shay would die and I would survive. I knew I didn’t want to get out of this without him. And then I prayed to die quickly. I prayed that they wouldn’t kidnap us.
There’s a saying in the army, better a dead soldier than a kidnapped one. And I know why that saying exists. Anyone would rather be dead than kidnapped, especially if she’s a woman. So I prayed to die quickly.
I told myself that if that son of a bitch terrorist has a rifle, then I hope he at least knows how to shoot. Let him finish me with one bullet, and not make me bleed out for eight hours. They kept banging on the camper, but they couldn’t break it, and they couldn’t take it, so they tried burning it. They spilled something on it and we smelled something burning.
Finally, we started hearing retaliation fire. Yagil, the owner of the security company at the festival, and a friend, sent a location that we should meet him at. We were scared to open the door.
We went outside, our hands in the air. Imagine. Bodies everywhere. Bodies everywhere. Bodies. Everywhere. The phrase “bodies everywhere” doesn’t begin to describe it. Massacre. A battlefield. Images you don’t even see in movies, even in the worst horror movies. Only, maybe, in images from the Holocaust do you see amounts of bodies like that. And all of the bodies had blue wristbands on their wrists. Blue wristbands, from the festival. And we walked, and there was a couple there, and a pile of bodies there.
Later, we tried to find out how to leave the area. When we drove by, we saw that beside nearly every car, there was a body. Bodies all along the road.
We made it to a village. We met friends, and I was so happy to see that they were alive. And then the rocket sirens started, and we all ran to the safe room. We wanted to go home, Shay really wanted to get out of there. And we were about to leave, but they said there were terrorists in our city, too. We couldn’t leave, we had to hide.
Eventually, we made it home. Only when I opened the door to my house did I let myself cry and break down. When the numbers started climbing on the TV screen, we knew, because we’d seen it. We had seen the bodies. We had seen the massacre. We had seen it all.
Time had passed quickly and unbearably slowly at the same time. On the one hand, we were there for six hours, which is an eternity. On the other hand, something was always happening. Even when it was quiet, there were still gunshots. We didn’t know when the IDF would take control of the area. We thought Hamas had taken over. We just heard more and more of them, more terrorists and more vehicles, and they were breaking everything, and looting everything.
We thought it had been a mistake to come to hide in the camper. We didn’t know that everybody who had been outside earlier had been shot, or had run to the fields and was shot there. Only a few survived. At that moment, I had felt so guilty for telling my friends to come with me to the camper. There was a lot of fear, a lot of guilt. Mostly, I was scared for everyone else, and angry at myself.
I wasn’t scared to die. I had accepted it. I had said, fine, just let it happen quickly. I don’t want to bleed for hours, I don’t want to be in pain, I don’t want to be kidnapped. I wanted to die quickly. My only prayer was to die quickly.
Excerpted from Laura’s full story, among many from 10/7 massacre survivors.
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