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Photos: Published by Haaretz
Pictures of Israeli hostages held in Gaza are laid out on tables at the Passover event in Kibbutz Nir Oz, on Thursday. Credit: Ilan Assayag

Residents of Kibbutz Nir Oz at the Passover event, on Thursday. Credit: Ilan Assayag

Burned-out cars in Nir Oz a week after the October 7 Hamas attack. Credit: Amir Cohen/Reuters

Soldiers at the Passover ceremony calling for the release of hostages held captive in Gaza, in Kibbutz Nir Oz, on Thursday. Credit: Ilan Assayag

Ofri Bibas-Levy, relative of the Bibas family who are held captive in Gaza, speaks at the Passover event in Kibbutz Nir Oz, on Thursday. Credit: Ilan Assayag

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Residents of Kibbutz Nir Oz suffered one of the most devastating blows of all Israeli communities on October 7. This year, its surviving members held a Passover-themed event in the kibbutz's communal dining room to bring attention to their family members and friends still held in Gaza. 'Who could have imagined that this year our dining hall would be empty on seder night?'

by Rachel Fink for Haaretz
Apr 12, 2024

In a few short weeks, Jewish people around the world will gather with friends and family to celebrate the holiday of Passover, which commemorates the Israelites' freedom from Egyptian slavery at the hands of the evil King Pharaoh. There is a well-known line from the Haggadah, the special book that is read aloud every year at the seder, the festive meal held on the first night (or two nights in the Diaspora) of Passover: "In every generation a person is obligated to see themselves as though they went out from Egypt."

Today, at Kibbutz Nir Oz, the site of a devastating attack by Hamas terrorists on October 7 that left over a quarter of its 400 members either murdered or kidnapped, it is almost as though its surviving members have taken the line we read on Passover and adapted it to the atrocities of that fateful day. "In every generation, a person is obligated to see themselves as though they were in Nir Oz on October 7."

Walking along the winding paths of the kibbutz's once idyllic setting, among the charred remains of burned out houses where every bullet hole, every shard of glass, every drop of dried blood remains exactly as it was on Black Saturday, one cannot help but relive the horrors of that day, one cannot help but imagine themselves in their situation.

This Thursday, residents of the kibbutz, together with family members of Nir Oz residents still being held in Gaza, hosted a Passover-themed event in the kibbutz's communal dining room, which, like most kibbutzim, was the center of communal life, the site of thousands of shared meals and holiday celebrations since its founding in 1955.

On October 7, a large group of Hamas terrorists descended on the building, firing RPGs into the main room and setting fire to the large industrial kitchen. Like everything else on the kibbutz, the dining hall has not been touched since the day of the attack. Chairs and tables remain turned over, a thick layer of black soot covers the entire room, and in the air hangs the heavy stench of death and decay.

Among the detritus, organizers have set up a long seder table, with a crisp white tablecloth and perfectly set dishes alongside bottles of grape juice, baskets of matza and other traditional symbols of the Passover seder. Around the table stand 36 yellow chairs, with the photo of one of the Nir Oz residents who is still held captive in Gaza resting on each one.

The event was entitled "Let Our People Go," a reference to Moses' demand to Pharaoh in the Passover story that he liberate the Israelites from slavery and allow them to leave Egypt. The connection between the holiday and the plight of the hostages is undeniable – not only are we mere weeks away from the seder night, the central themes of Passover – freedom, redemption and renewal – all directly relate to the families' pleas to bring home their loved ones. But for the residents of Nir Oz, Passover has even more significance. As was mentioned by nearly every single speaker at the event, the holiday has always been one of the largest, most important communal events of the year. Through their pain and frustration and impassioned demands, those who spoke also shared personal memories of Passover celebrations on the kibbutz.

Like most seders around the world, Nir Oz's celebration features a retelling of the Exodus story in the Bible. But for the kibbutz, which has always drawn a large percentage of its income from farming enterprises, the holiday also has an important agricultural component as well. In ancient times, Passover marked the start of the barley harvest in Israel. On the second night of Passover a special offering was made in the Temple of an "omer" – an ancient measurement equivalent to a sheath of grain – of newly cut barley. Each night for the next seven weeks, until the day before Shavuot, a special prayer is said, called the counting of the omer. With Shavuot begins the wheat harvest.

Nir Oz, like many secular kibbutzim, chose to highlight this connection to the wheat harvest with a special tradition of letting the children run into the field to grab sheaves of wheat and throw them into baskets. On seder night, the children would be welcomed into the dining hall, swinging the baskets up and down and side to side while the adults sang and clapped along.

Osnat Peri, Kibbutz Nir Oz's chairwoman, whose husband Chaim, 79, remains captive in Gaza, opened the event with a description of seders past. She described gathering together in the dining hall, with large families sitting together at beautifully set tables. She spoke of decorations hanging on the walls, handmade by the children in the kibbutz's preschool, and she shared their annual tradition of singing a song written by one of the kibbutz's founders, Amiram Cooper, 84, who is also still being held hostage by Hamas.

"Who could have imagined that this year our dining hall would be empty on seder night?" Peri said. "Who could have known that no one here would even dare say the word 'freedom'? Because this year, not a single one of us feels free?"

"Please," Peri implored, "give us this holiday to celebrate freedom, to celebrate liberty, to feel again that we have a state, that we have a kibbutz, that we have a family."

When Ofri Bibas-Levy took the stage next, she didn't share her recollections of past holiday celebrations. Instead, she painted a picture of what this year's seder would look like, if her brother Yarden, 34, and his wife Shiri, 32, and their two children Ariel, 4, and Kfir, 1, who are all still held hostage, were able to celebrate the holiday with Bibas-Levy and her young family.

"I can imagine Ariel getting excited," Bibas-Levy said, her voice breaking, "about reading the traditional story. Running around with the other children looking for the afikoman, the matzah we hide as a gift for the children."

"Kfir is already big enough to join us in singing the four questions as the youngest of the children, to drink grape juice, and to stay up far too late, because it's allowed on Passover."

"Will such a reality be ours?" Bibas-Levy asked. "Will they be granted the freedom so cruelly taken from them?"

Later, during an interview, Bibas-Levy, who is currently eight months pregnant with her third child, described what Passover will look like for her if her family does not return home. "If it was only me, I don't think I would celebrate," Bibas-Levy said. "But I have my two young girls to think of. They are really excited. So, yes, I will have to take a deep breath and we will sit at a table and do a seder for them."

"But I still cannot imagine what it is going to be like without Yarden and Shiri and the kids," she continued. "We have always celebrated together. We never, ever thought we would get to this day without them."

At one point, a video of previous Passover seders held in the kibbutz was shown, during which hostage Chaim Peri can be seen reading a poem he wrote. The video featured clips of the scenes described by some of the speakers –- kibbutzniks dressed in white, with children dancing joyfully with stalks of wheat in their hands. It ended with the caption, "This Passover will not be the same without them. Do not leave them there during the holiday. Let our people go."

After the video, Amir Alfasa, the nephew of Maya Goren, 56, who was kidnapped and murdered by Hamas, told the crowd that the images from the video make up his happiest childhood memories. "My family and I would come and gather right here to celebrate Passover with the kibbutz," Alfasa said. "We would all be together, eating good food and singing late into the night. Sometimes my family and I would even go on stage to sing while I played the guitar.

"To watch this video and think about the people in it who are still in captivity is unbearable," Alfasa said.

At the end of the event, as the members of Kibbutz Nir Oz were filing out of their dining hall, I saw a man standing quietly off to the side whom I recognized as Amnon Lifshitz. Amnon's parents, Yocheved and Oded, both 85 and both taken hostage on October 7. Yocheved returned to Israel after 18 days, while Oded is still being held there. I asked Amnon for his favorite Passover memories.

"Thank you for a question that's not about the hostage deal," he said, smiling.

"Passover here is something big. A lot of preparations. Kids prepare shows. People compose music and songs. And it's also when we are counting all of the results of our agriculture.

"I've been a part of the kibbutz Passover celebrations my whole life," Lifshitz recalled. "First, I was one of the babies we hold up in front of the dining hall as part of the celebration of all the new babies born that year. Then I was one of the children dancing with the wheat. Then I was a teenager and I'd sit at the seder with my friends cracking jokes until the adults shushed us. And then, of course, I came here with my own family so we could celebrate with the grandparents."

At the end of the interview, Lifshitz quoted another well-known line from the Haggadah: "In every generation they rise against us to destroy us. And the Holy One, Blessed Be He, saves us from their hands."

"Last generation, it was my grandpa in the Holocaust. Now it's my father in this Holocaust," Lifshitz said, with a bittersweet smile. "Well, let's see it. Where are you, God? Give us a sign. We are here. And we are waiting."