October 7th through the eyes of a Nirim teen

When you are 15 1/2 your life revolves around hanging out with your friends, fighting with your siblings and doing the things you love. Yuval loves surfing, being a leader in her youth group and TikTok, of course. On October 7, 2023, Yuval’s experiences looked more like a seasoned combat soldier than a 15 1/2-year-old. Today she is 16 1/2. This past October 7^th she addressed the commemoration on Kibbutz Nirim. It was an intimate, raw event, attended also by President and Mrs. Herzog. One year isn’t a long time, in many aspects, but for those of us who have been impacted personally by the ruthless invasions of last year, profound losses of people you knew and loved, ending in the need to abandon the home we love, it is a lifetime. Yuval’s clear descriptions of that day when she and her family were almost murdered, end in a request and a promise. Her words were so poignant and moving that I wanted to raise her voice; to provide a window into the soul of a child who survived the inferno and has the resilience to share her experiences.

Please meet Yuval:

Yuval addressing the audience, momma Michal filming it for posterity, and papa Lee looking on in the distance.

My name is Yuval Rahav, an older sister to 14 year old Noam and 10 1/2 year old Itamar, the daughter of Michal and Lee. We have two dogs: Milky and Kai

We have been living in Nirim for almost six years, in a small house next to the kibbutz fence on the western side facing Khan Yunis.

On Saturday morning, the 7^th of October, 2023, I was woken up at half past six in the morning to the noise of people running into my room, which is our family’s saferoom, and the door slamming.

Frightened, I got up quickly and immediately closed the protective iron sleeve on the window of the safe room, the notifications of incoming rocket fire from my mother’s phone didn’t stop, at first I thought it was only in our area but my mother said it was all over the country, I didn’t understand what was going to happen and of course I didn’t know it would proceed to develop into a life-changing event of such magnitude, but I also understood that there was something much bigger that was behind it all.

Itamar got on my bed all stressed and scared because I think he also understood that something different was unfolding. Noam and my father laughed a little at first in an attempt to lighten up the atmosphere, but the events took a very sharp turn. My father quickly realized that something was seriously wrong. He left the safe room and started preparing to go outside and join up with his reserve unit, wherever they were. His unit is part of the Gaza Brigade. My mother went out with him and brought back clothes and shoes for my siblings and me, and also collected some other items to pack suitcases. She wanted us to be ready, so that as soon as we could, we would leave for a safer place. But that didn’t happen. In the blink of an eye, the entire region transformed into a blazing battlefield.

My father dressed us in flack jackets, my mother gave us improvised weapons. I went out to the living room where I knew that there was pepper spray on the dresser. I had never considered we would ever need to use it.

I went back to the safe room and kidded around with my sister about how we would “mow the terrorists down.” It wasn’t actually bravado, rather an attempt to cut the tension because Itamar, our younger brother, was very upset. Suddenly I saw our dog running to the safe room. My mother and father ran in and closed the door. It was clear that something very wrong was happening.

Soon after that,  I heard the sounds of explosions, shooting and shouting in Arabic getting louder, surrounding the house.

Thoughts began to flood my brain, mainly I was afraid of what the potential outcome of all this might be. I remember calling after him as he left the safety of our safe room, to protect us from outside: “Dad don’t die, don’t die! ”

I remember my mother urging me to stay quiet, telling me that this was not the time, and that everything would be fine, everything would be fine…

I continued to crouch down, half lying down with my siblings in the corner on the floor, unable to stop the thoughts about what my dad’s funeral would look like, how and what I would say there, and what my life would look like without him.

Yuval, Noam and Itamar crouching together in the saferoom.

Suddenly, the electricity went off. We were enveloped in darkness and a suffocating heat.

My thoughts were interrupted by the explosion of gun shots just on the other side of the saferoom door.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any more terrifying, my dad burst back into the safe room and slammed the door behind him.  I jumped. We all jumped. He told us, in a broken voice – “A terrorist tried to get in through Itamar’s window… I got him… it’s crazy!” And I’m thinking: Where is the army? Where is our team of first responders? Anyone!?

The terrorists knew we were here. They must be getting ready to storm the safe room. An explosion rattled the door of the safe room, and it literally changed shape. My dad told us:  “It’s a grenade or a bomb… they’ll soon enter…” Then he made a promise to us: “I won’t let them pass me, even if I die, they won’t get to you.”

Itamar’s room, after the grenade.

The room was filled with smoke, our ears were ringing from the blast.

My mother, who held my father’s handgun declared: “Until the last bullet”.

I was afraid, feeling suffocated and helpless.

No one was answering our frantic calls for help on the cell phone and we weren’t getting any encouraging news: only that the situation was dire. Family and friends tried to connect with us, but all we heard from them were annoying, pointless questions. Over time I understood that the questions came from a feeling of helplessness and their concern for us, combined with a lack of understanding how challenging and insane our reality was.

I remember my mother telling us “We are not saying ‘goodbye’!” I was crying, Noam was crying, Itamar was crying… our dogs were looking at us with an empty, hollow look.. as if they understood. As if they were trying to comfort us.

It became quiet. The cowardly terrorists didn’t try to come in again. Our fear turned into rage. I remember my parents wanting to go out, to engage the monsters, to protect save the neighbors at least…

At this point my body collapsed, and I just fell asleep.

It wasn’t until about 3:00 PM that we heard that the army was coming. My father went out and met them, and came back to say that we could leave. Nothing from the front door of our house to Nirim’s community center, to where we were taken, looked the same. Destruction, bullet holes, smoke, shrapnel, broken glass. Our house was destroyed, we had no home to return to. That much was already clear to me. At least not in the near future.

Remnants of the Rahav home

When we got to the community center, I found other kibbutz residents, our friends and neighbors. We exchanged stories, we started to hear about the other communities near Nirim, friends and teachers who were murdered or couldn’t be found. Suddenly, a new world of concepts was born: “missing people,” “kidnapped,” “hostages,” and all this time the alarms of incoming rockets were incessant. Finally, we could hear the army in action: helicopters, planes – our home was an insanely violent battlefield.

After a tense night, we left in a convoy to Eilat, I remember driving in silence with the whole family and the two dogs, there is no way we would have left them behind. We drove in the bullet-riddled car, sitting on a mat so as not to be cut by all the broken glass from the windows. We drove in silence, tired and shocked. Mom drove, Dad had on his helmet holding his weapon out through the window, at the ready if they try again…

Since then, I have returned a few times to what was my home.

Today, a year later. I’m asking our leaders of the government and the military, and everyone present here today: do everything possible, and we’ll pray hard, too, to bring all the hostages home, and to help us return as well. We will build a bigger, stronger and more beautiful house, with a healthier and stronger community.

The parents who raised and protected them with their bodies