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Survivor stories

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The terrorists were at our doorstep. I sat there with my son, petrified

  • Roee M.'s story

I cracked open the metal window of the safe room, contemplating escape, then a bullet struck my hand

It all began on Saturday morning, October 7, at 06:30 a.m. The rocket barrage had started, triggering the blaring Red Alert siren.

I quickly entered the safe room, thinking the barrage would quickly subside. As time passed in the shelter, it became evident that this was no ordinary attack; terrorists had infiltrated the area.


Locked within the safe room, I lacked essentials such as a charger, water, and my glasses. I maintained contact with my parents and friends via WhatsApp, making sure they were safe.

Eventually, my phone battery died. Desperate, I begged my friends to help me from afar and to seek assistance from the military forces to reach my apartment.


"My beloved grandmother, the closest person to my heart, had fallen victim to the terrorists"


Terrorists wreaked havoc in my neighborhood, countless bullets and grenades pounding against the fortified safe room door. From within, I could hear the destruction of my apartment. Huddled between the door and the bed in the darkness, I was overwhelmed with uncertainty about when and how this nightmare would end.


After several hours, shrouded in darkness and devoid of any sense of time, I could sense an eerie silence. Tentatively, I cracked open the metal window of the safe room, contemplating escape.


However, a bullet struck my hand, wounding me. Swiftly, I sealed the window, retreated into the room, and grappled with my injuries. In the inky blackness, I felt blood oozing from my wounded hand, improvising a makeshift bandage from clothes I had nearby. I remained in the room, unsure of the situation outside.


Hours later, I heard voices talking in Hebrew; soldiers had arrived at the safe room door. After a brief exchange to confirm our safety, they rescued me. More than 24 hours of darkness gave way to the welcoming light of day. A military ambulance took me to safety, and soon, my parents arrived, relieved to find me intact, save for my injured hand.


Then came the heart-wrenching news from my father: my beloved grandmother, the closest person to my heart, had fallen victim to the terrorists.


This is my story, one among many distressing tales.


Roee M.



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