Words are tools that describe and create reality. Powerful yet only representations, a reflection, not the experience itself. There is a gap between the two which usually goes unnoticed. But when the experience is profound the gap becomes sharp and painful. The words fall broken and twisted into the chasm that they cannot bridge.
What words could encompass the whirlwind of evil that swept through this little building, snatching lives away and laughing the whole time?
The dental clinic in Be’eri was designated as a gathering place in an emergency. It was not equipped for the disaster that hit the community on October 7th. Who could imagine a full-scale invasion of monsters armed to the teeth and eager to rape and burn families alive?
It was here that the Children of Light fought the Children of Darkness.
What words have enough truth in them, enough depth, to describe what happened in this little clinic? What words have enough light in them to describe Amit Man, beautiful and beloved, dedicated to life, choosing others above herself when the missiles began? She could have left the kibbutz. She could have stayed in the safe room. Instead, she took her paramedic’s bag and ran to the clinic. What words are enough to describe Dr. Daniel Levi, Amit, and a nurse battling for seven hours to treat the injured and save lives? What words are powerful enough to honor the two members of the kibbutz’s emergency response team who stood guard, fighting off the monsters so that the healers could treat the injured?
Seven hours, an eternity in hell.
Throughout the battle Amit, just 22 years old, kept her composure and constantly updated the Magen David Adom (MDA) headquarters about the condition of the wounded, pleading for evacuation. When the medical supplies ran out, she caressed the heads of the injured, gave them water, and encouraged them. Two of the survivors recounted that the assistance she provided saved their lives.
Around 2:00 PM the brave men battling to protect the clinic ran out of ammunition.
Amit managed to send a message to her family: “I don’t think I will get out of here. Please stay strong if something happens to me.”
“They’re here.”
Three little words. So much, unspeakable horror.
In her last call to her family, Amit can be heard screaming “Shachar” the name of one of the men trying to protect her. Did she scream because she had already been shot in the leg or was it because she was watching his life run out of his body and she couldn’t help?
When Amit was found they saw she had been shot in the leg, managed to apply a tourniquet to herself, but was shot again and died.
There are no words profound enough to convey what it is like to stand in the place where evil swept through, snatching lives away and laughing.
The walls, riddled with bullet holes, are silent yet accusatory. Here the Children of Light shone in all their glory. Here their sacrifice, love, dedication, honor, and dignity were not enough to stop the evil, ravenous and hellbent on stamping out life.
People whose loved ones were ripped from them here wrote on the walls, words doomed to fail in conveying the depths of their emotions.
The flatness of the words knocked the breath from my lungs. I saw words that attempted to infuse dignity and respect in a place where dignity was stolen. I saw words that attempted to express love and honor. And then one little word jumped out at me: “Mom”.
Amit Man’s sister Haviva and mother wrote these words on the wall, in between the bullet holes:
In memory of Amit Man, our little sister,
the beloved of our hearts who was murdered while saving lives,
together with Dr. Daniel Levi,
Shachar Tzemach,
and Eitan Hadad.
We love you forever and ever.
Mom !
Haviva
As time passes and others forget, we are left to pick up the debris left by the storm.
October 7th isn’t over.
{Reposted from the author’s blog}
