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The Stories We Carry Home

Oct 2, 2026, 7:27 PM

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Photograph by Adele Raemer

The Stories We Carry Home

It’s Erev Simchat Torah.
Three years ago, on Erev Simchat Torah, we went to sleep not knowing it was the last night of the life we knew. Tonight, I am home again.

I sit at home, in the very place where terrorists tried to kill me and my family.

The feeling is eerie.

Not frightening. Eerie.

It feels as if those who never had the chance to come home are still here, watching us. Watching to see whether we will keep telling their stories.

We will.

We have to.

It is the least we can do for those whose voices were silenced.

I am working on a clip for Nirim’s commemoration, telling the story of a father and daughter from Nirim who survived.

On Sunday, we will gather for the memorial of another father and daughter from Nirim who did not survive.

Two stories. One of survival. One of loss.

And I watch a clip of a mother who lost her husband and son being heckled as she tries to tell her part of their story, a part that was left out of a movie.

And I am preparing to travel to Germany, where I will tell my own story of survival in several different venues.

Somehow, I feel as if I am about to step into the lion’s den.

But I have to go.

I have to tell the truth of what happened here, especially now, when so many are determined to deny it, distort it, or look away.

The dead cannot speak.

So we speak for them.

And as long as we are here, we will keep telling their stories.

About the Author

The writer (aka "Zioness on the Border" on social media) is a mother and a grandmother who since 1975 has been living and raising her family on Kibbutz Nirim along the usually paradisiacal, sometimes hellishly volatile border with the Gaza Strip. She founded and moderates a 14K-strong Facebook group named "Life on the Border with Gaza". The writer blogs about the dreams and dramas that are part of border kibbutznik life. Until recently, she could often be found photographing her beloved region, which is exactly what she had planned to do at sunrise, October 7th. Fortunately, she did not go out that morning. As a result, she survived the murderous terror infiltrations of that tragic day, hunkering down in her safe room with her 33-year-old son for 11 terrifying hours. So many of her friends and neighbors, though, were not so lucky. More than she can even count. Adele was an educator for 38 years in her regional school, and has been one of the go-to voices of the Western Negev when escalations on the southern border have journalists looking for people on the ground. On October 7, her 95% Heaven transformed into 100% Hell. Since then she has given a multitude of interviews, going abroad on eight missions in support of Israel and as an advocate for her people. In April 2025 she returned home; her community returned not long after. But there are still challenges. Follow her blog to learn about them.

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