By then, we were the only car on the road. Two trucks full of terrorists bore down on us, shooting their guns. The smell of gunpowder filled the air as a bullet whizzed through the front windshield. We saw Hamas taking out people’s tires, then killing them inside their cars.
ASHKELON, Israel ꟷ Our spirits soared as my boyfriend Ronald, my friends, and I made the hour drive south from Ashkelon to the Kibbutz Re’im late one Friday night. When we reached the forest clearing around midnight, the Supernova Music Festival came into full view. Thousands of young people danced beneath the night sky in the Negev Desert to the sounds of celestial dance music. Others relaxed at their campsites in nearby tents.
Six hours after we arrived, early in the morning, I saw something soaring through the sky. The dance music rang out so loudly, I did not hear the deafening sounds of the rockets at first. In Israel, especially in the southern part of the country, we see rockets from Gaza often. The music didn’t stop nor did we, but soon a few police officers on site dispersed the crowd. They wore Israeli civilian police uniforms and directed everyone to run to the right. I still believe they were fake policemen. They did not look like Israeli locals, and they ran us straight toward Hamas terrorists who began killing everyone in sight.
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Ronald and I ran with the crowd, but we soon noticed a girl coming back toward us, terrified. Suddenly, we saw fire and blood everywhere. Bullets rang out as we made our way to the car. Amidst the confusion we got separated from our group and it quickly became apparent, Hamas had taken full control of the festival. Unable to find shelter, we took off and kept driving as Hamas killed people in their cars all around us, setting some of them on fire.
As we rushed away from the scene, a man from the party grabbed onto our vehicle and would not let go, pleading for help. We let him in as we searched for a place to hide. On a nearby slope, we stopped and took cover underneath the car. An Israeli soldier hid in his tank; his entire crew lay dead all around him. He tried to call for backup but with only one gun and no real means of communication, it became apparent, we had to save ourselves. Israeli forces were clearly occupied elsewhere.
For an hour, Ronald and I stayed hidden under the vehicle, while the boy who joined us remained inside the cab. As the gunshots grew closer, the boy started shouting, “They are coming! They are shooting at us. We need to leave.” Ronald and I leapt back inside, and we took off. By then, we were the only car on the road. Two trucks full of terrorists bore down on us, shooting their guns.
The smell of gunpowder filled the air as a bullet whizzed through the front windshield. We saw Hamas taking out people’s tires, then killing them inside their cars. Our maps stopped working and we struggled to navigate the bumpy desert grounds in my small vehicle. As we tried to find the main road out, terror consumed us.
“They are coming,” I screamed, “They are shooting at us.” My boyfriend tried to reassure me. “I can get us home if you show me the way out,” he pleaded. We made our way through the festival grounds and found the main road, but we soon found ourselves in even worse danger. The Kibbutz we entered was also under attack. The Israeli civilian force defending the Kibbutz thought we were the enemy and starting shooting at us, shattering the front and back windows. My boyfriend reached his mother by phone and all she could hear were our screams as we cried and begged for help. Ronald yelled, “They are shooting at us,” and the phone went dead.
Turning our attention to the soldiers, we shrieked, “We are Israelis! We are Israelis!” The soldiers heard us and stopped firing. “Get out of the car and run toward us,” they hollered. We grabbed our phones, abandoned the car, and ran toward the Israeli forces. They transported us to the Kibbutz in Sa’ad and kept us there until the roads became safe again.
Late that evening, I made it to my brother’s house in Tel Aviv and Ronald went to his parent’s place. I have no idea where the man we carried with us went after that. My mind continually returns to the Israeli soldier in the tank and guilt consumes me. I wish we could have taken him with us. We were too scared to get close to the tank because we thought Hamas would see us and kill us.
The memories of our terrorizing flight out of the Supernova Music Festival remains crystal clear in my mind. When I sleep, the nightmares flash through my head in detail. The night we arrived was perfect; everyone was happy and dancing. The festival represented love and freedom as we celebrated life. I shudder when I think of what it became.
My heart swells with gratitude for Ronald who maneuvered that challenging terrain to make our escape, and I cry for those who lost their lives in the minutes that passed. I lost my friends who came with us. The days now are filled with funerals. No one deserved this.
I try to hold on to this new life I’ve been given, as I grieve all of the people we lost.