By now, the security sirens had already been activated, and I was frantic trying to find the friends I’d come with from Afula so that we could flee together. Meanwhile, I saw a different friend from Afula who offered me shelter in his car. I told him that I couldn’t because I needed to locate the friends I’d come with, and I felt responsible for them. While we were talking, two bullets hit his car, which baruch Hashem was empty. The friend got right into the car, loaded up 12 people, and sped off.

Finally I spotted the car we’d come in, and also saw from afar the friends who had been with me heading toward the car. But as we approached from different directions, a missile struck, blowing up the car and everything in it. So now, not only didn’t we have a car to get home with, but we’d have to traverse a deadly route unprotected, with a bloodthirsty mob on our tail.

At that point, we noticed vans of terrorists entering the festival area and firing in every direction — AK-47s and RPGs, knives and machetes. That was when the horrific reality that we were facing finally sank in.

I began to speak to Hashem. I pleaded with Him to help me get home, and I promised that if I got home safely, I’d be His best child, I’d keep every single Shabbat, and I’d urge my friends to become baalei teshuvah.

Meanwhile, my friends began to run with another large group toward the nearby fields. I also joined the race, noticing more vans stopping near us and unloading terrorists, who began chasing us and shooting at the same time. I saw people falling one after another, and all around there were shrieks of panic: “They’re here!” “Someone save me!” and mostly just the raw “Help! Help!”

The terrorists were also shouting, but theirs were shouts of joy and glee.

Bodies were falling, flying in all directions… Some of the people tried to hide behind bushes, in tree branches, under cars…. I chose to keep running, while thoughts raced through my mind that I was running in the wrong direction, because beyond the fence was Gaza. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two paramedics trying to treat an injured girl and load her into an ambulance, but the terrorists struck them also, which made me realize that this was a massacre in real time, and there was no one to help us.

I kept running with my friends in the direction of the fence, when we saw two large vans heading in our direction unloading dozens of terrorists with automatic weapons, spraying gunfire in every direction. Everyone tried to protect everyone else, all these holy Jews who were being slaughtered right and left. In front of my eyes, I saw the most horrible things I had ever seen in my life — scenes of brutality and desecration the likes of which you could not imagine and that I won’t repeat.

All around me things were exploding but I kept surviving. I stepped on a leaf, a second later a bullet went through it. I leaned on a tree, right above me it was hit by an RPG. All around was death and destruction, but we kept running, my two friends and I, like we were in an invisible bubble.

Did I believe I’d ever get out of there alive? Well, I hoped the whole time that I would. I had this very primal knowledge that I was in Hashem’s Hands, and the feeling in my heart was clear — I’m going to get out alive and open a new page in my life. I was sure that Hashem was watching over me and protecting me, even though I kept taking steps that were the worst choices, turning in the wrong direction and running into the path of slaughter and destruction.

In G-d’s Bubble

When we reached the fence, dodging bullets and grenades, something propelled me to turn around and head back to the area of the festival, even though I knew it was crawling with terrorists. At that point, it really didn’t matter — it was like a roll of the dice. The fields we were running through were filled with terrorists, ahead of us, behind us, to the right and to the left. Everything to either side of us — people, cars, trees — were hit, but we just kept going. When my two friends and I reached the festival area again, we noticed people hiding under the stage, inside the chemical bathroom stalls and in other places. But we also knew that it was just a matter of time until they’d be hunted down and killed.

We decided to make a run for the toilets, when someone behind us was shot and killed and fell down right on top of my friend. I didn’t know if she was dead or alive — I just saw that she was covered in blood and I yanked her up, and then made a run for the toilets where our other friend had already hidden.

Meanwhile, I was sending messages to my parents to reassure them. To my mother I wrote, “Everything is okay, I’m out of the area of the south, and I’m on the way home. It’s a bit of a mess here, I’ll get there soon.” To my father I gave some more details: “There are lots of terrorists around me, but I’m all right.” I felt that I had to share it with them, but I didn’t want them to worry.

The three of us crowded together inside the toilet stall, and Hashem put it into my head not to lock the door, so that there wouldn’t be a red marker on the outside signaling it was occupied. The terrorists were going from stall to stall, and if the door was locked, they sprayed it with automatic fire or hurled grenades at it. They passed by dozens of times, shooting up each stall, making sure there would be no survivors from those hiding inside. We kept the door open a crack and pressed our feet up on the toilet so they wouldn’t be visible on the floor.

And we saw everything — every atrocity going on outside. The toilets have air slats that you can see out of but can’t see into, plus our stall had several bullet holes that we were able to look out of.

And of course, we prayed. We said Shema Yisrael. We were in there for eight and a half hours, and all we did was daven. I kept repeating, “Borei Olam, I love You so much, You’ve saved me until now. Whatever I’ve done until now, forgive me. Whatever I still need to do, I’ll do — just send me back to my parents in one piece, and I promise, if You get me back home, I will fulfill every single one of Your precepts to the letter of the law. If You save me, You’ll never have heartache from me again.”

At that point, it was totally clear: We knew we could only rely on the Borei Olam to save us. And when you know it’s only you and Hashem, you know you have to give yourself over completely. During those hours, it was just me and Him.

At one point, the terrorists burst into the area of the bathrooms and screamed, “It’s Tzahal, it’s the IDF!”

At first, I wanted to go out, but my friend held me back and said, “Don’t go out, it’s a trap, they’re terrorists!”

And that’s how we were saved. Others who were still alive came out, thinking it really was our army who’d come to rescue them, and they were shot on the spot. Then they went from stall to stall, showering each one with bullets. Three bullets hit our stall, but somehow nothing happened to us. And really, there is no natural explanation for the fact that we were spared. Hashem is the only One Who held that door closed and was with us every second.

Protect My Soul

Finally, toward evening, the army forces reached the festival area and began to search it. At first, we didn’t know it was the IDF. We just heard the other bathroom doors opening, and then came the screaming — apparently from the soldiers who faced the carnage in one stall after another. But when they opened our door, there was silence. The soldiers simply didn’t believe there were any live people in this area.

Then they told us: “You’re the last three living Jews in the whole festival area. No one else survived.”

The soldiers took us out of the stall and helped us to an evacuation vehicle. I walked through the carnage, I saw eight of my own friends lying murdered on the ground, their bodies in a state that I cannot describe. It was a pathway of death, but also a pathway of malachim. We kissed these desecrated bodies and parted from them. As I climbed into the military vehicle I put my head in my hands. I couldn’t believe we were really getting out of there without a scratch.

They took us home to Afula. I went back to my parents, who were waiting for me around the table, together with the whole family — my grandmother, uncles, siblings. No one dared speak to me — they were terrified to look me in the eyes, eyes that told the worst story there is to tell.

My mother was the one who broke the ice. She took my hand and brought me to my room and said, “Look, Barak, this is your bed, this is your closet.”

I sat down in front of the mirror and looked at myself to make sure I was really alive, and I thanked Hashem with tears running down my cheeks. “Thank You for all You have helped me endure, and thank You for bringing me home alive to my parents and my family.” Then I added, “Please Hashem, protect my soul as well.”

After everything I’d been through and witnessed, it was impossible to get back to regular life. I mainly davened and said Tehillim — it was the only thing that calmed my soul. People ask me if it’s hard for me to replay all those horrifying images in my head. But you know, amid all this pain and horror, there was also a real feeling that I could see Hashem, and I’m so happy that He was with me and granted me this huge chesed and saved me. I would never want to go through such a thing again, but I would not want to give up the closeness that I felt in that terrible place.

The Shadchan

The following week was life-altering, because that was when I met with Rav Shlomo Ofer, a Breslover mashpia who has a Torah and kiruv center in Rishon L’Tzion. Rav Ofer, a true healer of souls, invited me to participate in his weekly Monday night tikkun and sat with me for hours, gluing my nefesh back together. He stressed the idea of turning over all my pain and trauma to the Borei Olam, and guided me to remember that all those horrible things that I saw, that will give me nightmares forever, are somehow part of Hashem’s greater plan.

And it was Rav Ofer who introduced me to my bashert.

The Rav had invited me to share my story in his shul, and my future wife, Li-Odel, happened to be sitting in the women’s gallery together with my mother. Li-Odel has been part of the Rav’s kehillah since she was a teenager and has been to his tikkun every week for two decades. She has a nine-year-old son from a short-lived marriage; he sat next to me while I was telling my story, and then took my hand afterward while we got up to dance. At the end of the evening, the Rav gave me a brachah that I would soon marry.

“Today you’re meeting your zivug,” he told me.

And Li-Odel’s son Osher piped up, “I want my mother to find her zivug, and I want a father.”

My future wife was sitting with my mother in the balcony while I was dancing with her son downstairs.

Li-Odel’s parents named her “Li” after her mother’s harrowing pregnancy, in which both mother and baby nearly died, and Rav Ofer, on the advice of Rav Chaim Kanievsky, suggested she add the name “Odel.”

She has her own challenging story: She has hemophilia, a disorder in which the blood doesn’t clot properly. It rarely affects women, because of their chromosomal arrangement — there are only about 2,000 known cases of female hemophilia today, and only four of them have her specific genetic mutation.

Li-Odel is probably one of the only women in the world who gave birth with the condition and lived to tell about it. When she was about to give birth, she made a promise to Hashem that if they both came out alive, she would dedicate the child to a life of Torah and spiritual devotion.

When Rav Ofer suggested the shidduch, Li-Odel thought it was a little nuts.

“Do you know how old I am?” she asked me. “I’m 36. I’m 11 years older than you. Why would you want to marry me?”

But I knew it was my zivug. Because after the Nova festival, no one would look me in the eye. But when we met, she looked into my eyes and saw my soul. I knew she would be my wife.

Today, we live in Rechovot, and I’m meriting to build a true Torah home. I speak wherever I can, telling my story and encouraging others to go for eternal connection instead of fleeting pleasure, and my wife makes hafrashot challah all over the country in the merit of the hostages and for anyone who needs yeshuot.

I know, people raise their eyebrows when they hear my story — how I went from one extreme to the other so quickly, when some people take years to recover. I think the answer is that once I realized I would do teshuvah, it was with a full heart, with no looking back. When I was running for my life to escape the terrorists, I knew right then that if I was saved, I would do complete teshuvah.

And there’s something else: When a person praises Hashem for the gifts He has given him, more and more gifts are bestowed on him. I feel that this is what happened to me: I don’t stop thanking Hashem for the miracles He did for me, and therefore He helps me and sends me more miracles. Hashem alone healed my soul, and my life now is only for Him. My story proves that Hashem runs the show, and that everything is in His hands.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1008)