By Yuval Moha, Community Shaliach
For the full gallery of photos from Yuval’s trip back home, click here!
When I came to the Jewish community in the U.S. about two years ago—just two weeks before October 7th—I left behind a vibrant and bustling country, full of life. I returned for the first time after the war to a completely different reality. During my first year serving this community, I lost two close friends who served with me as combat soldiers. Their deaths hit me hard, and preparing myself mentally for that first visit was difficult. When I returned to Israel, I found it hard to carry the frustration and burdens that people wore on their faces and in the streets. At one point, despite my immense longing to see family and friends, I felt a need to return to the community I serve, to disconnect and get away from the pain that hung in the air.
But this year, on my second visit since the war, the experience was completely different. Although Israel is still in a state of war, I cherished every single moment I got to spend with my family and friends. I realized this was my time to connect, not only with people but also with the complex reality of Israel. During this brief visit, I had some deeply meaningful experiences, and I want to share two of them with you.
Beauty Alongside Pain
On the first weekend of my visit, I went out with friends in Tel Aviv. We chose to wear festive white clothes, as is customary on a summer weekend, and we set out from one of their homes on Yarkon Street toward Rothschild Boulevard. This combination of festive attire and a good mood stood in complete contrast to what I saw on the way. As we passed through Allenby Street, I was confronted by the complete destruction of houses. This was a result of the Iranian attack that had taken place just two weeks earlier. My friends, who had grown used to the sight, kept walking, but I stopped. I stood a few steps behind them to take in the full picture. It was a moment when I truly understood the price of war. I felt an ambivalence I couldn’t put into words: the Israeli zest for life, the decision to go out and celebrate, stood directly opposite the destruction and the pain. I realized at that moment that only here, in Israel, could you find this complex combination.
Never Forgetting
During this visit, I had the opportunity to meet with musician and artist Micha Biton, who came to Delaware to share his story from October 7th as part of our community’s Yom Ha’atzmaut events. Micha lives in Kibbutz Netiv HaAsara, the kibbutz closest to the Gaza border, where 20 of its members were murdered by two terrorists who infiltrated the kibbutz by air. Micha guided me along the path the terrorists took. I saw the very spots and homes where they murdered people in front of their children’s eyes. I met a kibbutz member whose adoptive father was one of the first to be killed—a man who went out to protect the kibbutz and was sacrificed on the altar of war.
Afterward, we continued to the memorial site of the “Nova” party in Re’im. Last year, I promised myself I wouldn’t cross that imaginary line, but this year, I realized it wasn’t a question of whether to go or not—it was a matter of obligation. This was my first time visiting the site, which has since been officially funded by the state. It is now organized and commemorated in a uniform manner, with careful thought and effort put into each of the memorials. Among the signs, I recognized the memorial for my friend, Avi Hovelashvili, who was the company commander in my military service. He was killed in the area of the party when he went to help. On the morning of October 7th, Avi woke up to the sound of sirens and left his home, saying goodbye to his wife and his young daughter, Romi. He knew he was needed, so he put on his uniform and left armed with only his personal pistol. On the way, he realized the infiltration was much larger and more significant than anyone had thought. He joined another soldier, and they managed to neutralize a squad of terrorists. But when they arrived at the party site, they encountered an overwhelming number of terrorists, and he was killed. Just a week before he was killed, his wife discovered she was pregnant. Their second son, Imri, was born eight months after Avi’s death. Avi was 26 years old at his death.
We ended the day in the city of Sderot, where I visited the memorial for the Sderot police station. The station was overrun by Hamas terrorists, and many battles and heroic stories unfolded there, ending with the decision to detonate the station from the outside with all the terrorists inside. The city of Sderot chose to engrave a quote from one of Micha’s songs on the memorial—his works having become a symbol of hope and resilience.
What do I want to tell you? A visit to this country, even when it’s in a difficult state, isn’t just a trip; it’s an internal journey. It’s a journey that teaches me to contain pain along with hope, to understand the strength of the human spirit, and to recognize that—even in the darkest moments—light can emerge.
