On the morning of October 7th, we woke up to the sound of the Red Alert Siren (“Tzeva Adom”: indicating a rocket fire event), and immediately grabbed our phones and ran to the Mamad (in-house bomb shelter). This time, in addition to sounds of exploding rockets, we heard sounds of gunfire.

I immediately called the council hotline to report it; they reassured me that they were aware of the incident. We assumed that if they knew about it, it was being taken care of.

We continued with the usual protocol of calling family members in our kibbutz, Nirim, to check that they were alright. I called Yagev who said they are in the Mamad. Oren called his mother.

Within minutes, everything went wrong. I started to see, in the regional emergency leaders’ group (Tsachi), that all the communities from Kerem Shalom in the south to Beeri in the north, were asking for urgent help.

As a Tsachi member of Nirim myself, messages from our residents started flowing in about terrorists trying to enter the houses, walking around them, shooting everywhere, attempting to set the houses on fire.

I started sending help messages to the Council’s Emergency Call Center. I quickly realized that the terrorists were scattered throughout the kibbutz, including in our own neighborhood.

I received a call from a young woman from the kibbutz who saw, on her mother’s Facebook, a picture of her 78-year-old mom and brother, sitting at home, with a terrorist standing next to them. 

I called the hotline again, and their answer was the same as all their answers so far – “the issue is being handled”, “we’ll be at your place within 15 minutes”, etc.

At this point, I realized we were on our own, there was no external assistance, and this was the case in all the other communities around us. In the group chat of the regional Tsachi leaders, there were cries in a language and intensity our country had never seen up to this day.

I spoke with Yagev again; he said that there were terrorists behind his house. At this point, I already knew the terrorists had murdered a father and daughter in a neighboring house, but I refrained from telling him to avoid adding pressure.

Due to my Tsachi responsibility of forwarding the messages to the Council Hotline, I was flooded with reports from friends and from the Tsachi members. I asked Oren to talk to Yagev, Rimon and his mother.

We were aware that their neighborhood was a focal point for the terrorist attack and that three people – which later turned out to be five – had already been murdered there. I reported that the terrorists were setting the house in front of them on fire, where a family with a ten-day-old baby lived, and that smoke began to penetrate the Mamad. Again, the hotline representative tried to reassure me that they were on their way, but they were completely helpless. At this point I did not believe it so I began to look for other solutions. 

At around 9 AM, the connection with Yagev was cut off. We were worried, but we held on to the hope that his phone battery had run out due to the power outage.

The messages that came from the kibbutz members included screams and plead for help. It’s hard to explain what it feels to receive a message from someone you know, crying out for someone to save their children. I kept calling the hotline and got no concrete answers, all while experiencing the crippling fear and anxiety of not knowing what’s going on with Yagev and Rimon. Throughout the chaos, we hear terrorists walking around our house. Our family outside the kibbutz is worried, and I still have no answer from Yagev and Rimon. We must continue to update the hotline and beg for help to arrive.

Only towards 3:30 PM we heard voices that sounded like our army; we started to understand they began searching the houses.

The news started to flow – Hana and Nadav, the mother and son who were photographed on Facebook were not found in their home, friends were killed, and there was still no news about Yagev and Ramon.

When we got permission to leave our home, we tried to gather additional information about Yagev and Rimon. The first response was that they had searched the neighborhood and everyone was okay, but the answer did not reassure us. We arrived at the club where they gathered all the kibbutz members, and we didn’t see them. Oren, together with soldiers, went to their house. Upon initial inspection, they  didn’t find anything – neither Yagev, Rimon, or the dogs were there. The soldiers tried to reassure us saying they had escaped the room. The answer did not appease us, and Oren went back with an Emergency Services member, this time equipped with flashlights. They saw signs of struggle in the room, bullet cases on the floor and blood on the door. The fear of what we were suspecting became a terrifying reality.

Yagev and I were born the same month, in the same Kibbutz – Nirim. We were next door neighbors and grew up together; lifetime friends.

When we were in kindergarten, I’d go play over at his place. He had the best Lego drawer and dinosaur posters.

In elementary school, he took street theater lessons and would bring props so we’d practice together on the front lawn. To this day I can juggle 3 balls thanks to Yagev.

Yagev has plenty of hobbies and interests he pours his heart into; he’s a total autodidact. He loves music to the point of knowing all the songs that existed (it was easier in early 2000s), playing and building multiple instruments, as well as being part of several bands. I really enjoyed his love for music – he made 4 Nirvana CDs for me, introduced me to bands like Portishead and Eatliz, took me to my first concerts and music festivals (Levontin 7, Roger Waters, IndieNegev)…

Yagev also self-studies electronics to build music instruments and he always reads psychology, sociology and philosophy books. In high school, he had already understood things about humanity and justice that most people still don’t understand. He accepts anyone without any judgment. Yagev is knowledgeable, curious and can talk about anything. 

He is one of the first people I came out to.

I’d come over to his house for a sophisticated glass of whisky, and in recent years for the best coffee in Nirim.

The love between Yagev and Rimon built up slowly over the years, and then all at once. After 17 years of friendship, they suddenly figured it out, and I could see how happy they both were. A sweet, loving, happy couple. They threw a cute, modest Covid wedding that suited them just right, on their parents’ lawn, with their closest family and friends.

Yagev and Rimon built themselves a beautiful and cozy home, filled with cooking, plants, music, cats and dogs, love and togetherness.

Yagev and Rimon are now kidnapped. In Gaza.

On that damn, dark Saturday, at 6:59 AM, Rimon sent me a voice message – she said that Yagev is really anxious, but they are thinking about us (we were there with our baby), worrying about us, and sending a hug.

Twenty minutes later Yagev posted “Terrorists outside the window, WTF?”.

Yagev and Rimon found it in their hearts to worry about me and my family while hearing gunshots and terrorists shouting in Arabic outside their window. This is the kind of people they are. And now it’s my turn to worry about them.

My name is Nufar Buchstab, from Kibbutz Nirim. Like many of my friends, my world turned upside down on Saturday, October 7th.

I woke up Saturday morning, in my apartment in Rehovot, to a siren. Strangely, when Red Alert sirens go on, I jump out of bed in seconds, although my body has not yet gotten used to them. A bit indifferently, I changed my clothes and thought this was just another routine event. One alert and we’d go back to sleep. This isn’t how it turned out…

I started sending messages to my family, my parents, my grandmother, and everyone in the kibbutz. Used to the situation, my parents answered they had entered the emergency shelter and so did Grandma. I had already begun to understand something was wrong, they were talking about an infiltration. But that’s fine, I thought, it’s something that already occurred in the past. 

I was not prepared for the answer I received from Yagev and Rimon – Rimon still sounded shocked when she said they saw terrorists outside the window, quickly closed it and entered the shelter. Of course, she immediately added that they were together and careful and she told me to take care of myself.

This was the start of hours of uncertainty and worry. The non-stop sirens had already become background noise as my mind was in the kibbutz.

The hours pass. My parents occasionally send a sign of life. Grandma calls and says she’s fine, that only the house is a little damaged. But from Yagev and Rimon, there is no answer. In my mind, the worst scenarios are already running but on the other hand, there is still hope; maybe it’s just their battery that ran out. 

In the back of my mind, thoughts about friends in the kibbutz, friends from junior high and from high school. The fear of hearing or realizing that someone else you love might be hurt, missing, or gone spreads through me. In the background, the question also arises – why was I not at home today, at least to be with my parents in those terrible moments.

The greatest fear became a reality – instead of hearing that everyone was OK and evacuated to a safe location, they announced that the army had searched, but Yagev and Rimon were not home. 

They had been kidnapped. 

A million questions immediately arise – What is happening to them now? Are they afraid (how could they not)? Are they together (maybe even with other people they know)? And how are they supposed to feel in such a nightmare? Where do we go from here? What now???

Yagev is my older brother. He already knew Rimon from school, and music always connected them. From the moment they met again several years later, they were inseparable. I remember the moment they called me together to announce they were getting married (Mom couldn’t hold back and shared the excitement and surprise with me earlier). I remember that I could literally see their smile and hear their happiness through the phone.

That’s also how they live, in their little bubble, always hugging and loving, accompanied by the dogs and cats they love so much.