As the crowd gathered in the UM Hillel building, among the cheerful chattering and chewing of students and adults, one young woman sat quietly, by herself. Immersed in herself, distant, sat the key speaker.
As time arrived, the young women moved to her seat, in front of her crowd. Following a short presentation by Shiri, Hillel’s Israel fellow, the young woman started: “My name is Millet, and I survived the massacre at the Nova festival.” Following a distance noise, somewhere in the building, she suddenly flinched… “I am sorry, noises have become difficult for me, it makes me lose focus.” And then continued: “I came here to carry a message, that although the terrible things that happened to us, we must stay united and keep our hope.”
It was lunchtime on a Tuesday on a cold autumn day in Michigan, and Millet Ben Haim was on a mission. She came here on behalf of a new organization, “Faces of October 7th”, recently founded to put real faces and voices behind the numbers. As Jews, we have our experience in dealing with catastrophes and of recounting them. We learned from the last generation’s catastrophe that huge numbers, whether it is “1,400” or “6,000,000” tend to decrease the sorrow and identification with a catastrophe, while personal stories, of real people, connect.
The autumn of Michigan must be very different than that day, October 6th, that started in Jerusalem, preparing for a rave. Raving outfits, makeup and a lot of shiny glitter seemed like the right way to prepare for a weekend trance festival in the Negev. Millet knew she was going to a safe place, to meet friends, to be part of a community based on love. A couple of hours’ drive got her to a beautiful natural location, to the great atmosphere she was looking for. She was happy.
As the party raged, night fell, emotions rose, beautiful bodies moved with the beats. As the sun started to rise, everybody stopped to look at the Negev’s beautiful sunrise.
And then the music stopped.
“I looked at the DJ, I always stood close by to him, since I am a DJ myself. I asked him what’s going on? He pointed in the other direction. I turned. Rockets. Many rockets, more than I have ever seen. I, together with everyone, laid on the ground.
Actually, as an Israeli, I am quite used to rockets. So, I was laying and waiting for it to end, to go back to dancing.”
“But it didn’t finish. My friend, intoxicated, got into a panic attack. We were looking for instructions from a security guard, but his reaction made us understand that we might be among many others, but we are on our own.”
At this moment, Millet and her friend tried to get out of there, like many others. They got to their car and crammed into it with some others. Millet was sober, so she drove. The traffic was jammed, the path was a defective dirt path, but everybody kept order, and acted in a considerate way. When we got to the road, she suddenly seen people rushing in the other direction, waving their hands to signal something: run away!
She was the last one to manage the U-turn before the shooting started.
“We quickly reached a blockade of scattered, deserted cars. We knew it is a terror attack. We could drive no more, so we got out and started to run. Gaza was West of us, so we just ran east towards the sun.”
“I saw terrorists: On motorcycles, from the skies. We saw soldiers. We ran towards them, but they had RPGs – and the IDF doesn’t use those. Terrorists.”
“I felt as if I was inside a nightmare: running endlessly without being able to get closer to safety.”
“All around us was shooting. People falling. I ran too slow, others were already far away. I could hear the terrorists.”
“I heard two voices in my mind- ‘give up! You can’t do it, just finish with it.’ ‘There’s no use of thinking of the odds – just keep going, do not lose hope!’”
“We managed to avoid the terrorists.”
“We got to a little valley with bushes. We were about 20 people; in my mind we were 20 survivors out of hundreds. One of us said: ‘We are moving targets.’”
“I got to “mission mode” and ordered everybody to split.” “Me and 3 others crawled away, looking for a place to hide.”
“I was surrounded, exhausted. I was running for 2 consecutive hours, which felt like minutes.”
“Me and 2 friends and a stranger girl hid in a bush. Our friends kept running for two more hours.”
“We kept completely silent. Hugging.”
“I was afraid to call the police. They could hear the noise. When I managed to call, I had to wait. And wait. And they eventually answered and told us: ‘You are on your own. Do not approach any nearby settlement, the terrorists are over there as well.’”
“I called my family and sent location for a chance of rescue.”
“I was trying to save my phone battery. Thinking of last words. ‘I really love you and happy with the life I’ve had.’ I wanted them to take comfort knowing that though I died young, I was happy.”
“We kept hiding. I kept hearing shooting. I heard the terrorists walking. Laughing. They felt safe and comfortable around, while I was hiding, terrified. I knew that if they find me, they won’t care. Begging wouldn’t help. I was wearing party clothes. I was ready for a rave, for the safest environment. Now, I was afraid of what the terrorists will do to me if they’ll find me dressed up like that.”
I preferred dying.
“Someone screamed ‘They found me, help!’ We couldn’t help.”
“I made peace with the fact that I am going to die. The skies were very blue. Birds, blue. I hoped nature would move on disregarding human evil. My family will move on.”
“Then, my little brother texted me a message of hope. That’s all I needed.”
“I was sober and functioning. I was with 3 other younger girls, crying, all with dead phones. I somehow got the phone number of someone to save us, Rami Davidian. I don’t know how I got it. I texted him directions. I had only 3% battery. We were 5 hours in the bush.”
“I texted him: ‘Do not give up on us.’
“He texted back: ‘I’ll honk my car’s horn till I find you.’
“And turned off my phone. I couldn’t imagine what a risk Rami took by doing that.”
“After 1 hour, I heard a car. I turned on my phone and called him. It was him, but he couldn’t find us. So, I calculated the risk, and started to crawl out.”
“He was in a white Toyota, like the terrorists. I saw a white Toyota. I was afraid. But I saw a Hebrew sticker on it, and I got up.”
“It was someone else, Leon Bar, who saved us. He saved hundreds of people over two days until the terrorists killed him. He took us to “Patish”, a nearby settlement. There were hundreds of people sheltering there. We hid in a shelter until IDF rescued us.”
“Rami Davidian saved more than 700 people over three days.”
Millet spoke for 40 consecutive minutes, nonstop, not interrupted, with a hollow look in her eyes. Staring at a point somewhere below her. But suddenly she raised her eyes, and I felt as if she looked me in the eyes. She then said:
“I want to finish with a sentence, which is a Moral compass for me:
There will not be a victory of light over darkness until we figure out that we must turn on the light.”
I would like to thank U of M Hillel and Shiri Eshet, its “Israel Fellow”, for hosting Millet and inviting me, as a member of the Federation staff to join the conversation. I see great importance in telling the story of Oct. 7th, so we will all remember what started this war. As terrible as it is for both sides, it is a war for restoring safety and justice.