I was born and raised as a Druze in Israel, part of a small community that believes deeply in loyalty, service, and coexistence. Throughout my life, I grew up between cultures, languages, and religions. I learned to respect others, to help whenever I could, and to believe that every human life—regardless of faith or background—has value. As Druze, we are taught not to judge people by their religion, but by their actions, by who they truly are.
On October 7, 2023, that belief—my entire worldview—flashed before me in an instant.
Serving Food, Not Knowing We Were Walking into a Massacre
Before the attack, I came with my brother and our team from Taboonia to serve traditional Druze food at the Nova Music Festival. It was supposed to be a weekend of music, joy, freedom, and peace. We brought the flavors of home—food made with love, tradition, and hospitality. We were proud and excited to be part of something positive, giving people a memorable experience.
None of us imagined that serving food would turn into a fight for survival.
The Moment Everything Changed
At dawn, when the air was still quiet, we heard the first explosions. At first, we thought it was far away—maybe rockets, as we had heard many times before. But, within seconds, we realized it was close.
Then came the sound of gunfire—continuous, all around us. And then we saw them. Dozens of Hamas terrorists stormed the festival. They were not coming to fight soldiers. They were not coming for political gain. They came to murder civilians—intentionally, calmly, without hesitation. People who had been dancing just moments before became targets.
The terrorists did not care who we were. They did not ask whether we were Jewish, Druze, Muslim, or Christian. They did not care what we believed in or where we came from. To them, we were all the same: people to kill.
Running for Our Lives—Ten Hours of Fear + Death
Within seconds, we understood that we had to run. I yelled to my brother and our team: “Run! Don’t look back!”
Around us was fire, smoke, and injured people, screaming. Thousands tried to escape at once. Cars were on fire. Young people ran barefoot. It was a nightmare.
We ran into the woods, and, from that moment on, we kept running. We ran for ten hours. Ten hours of crawling through trees, hiding among bushes, enduring hunger, pain, and unending fear. Ten hours of gunfire—near and far, all around us.
We heard the terrorists hunting people in the forest, calling out in Hebrew to trick survivors. We heard people pleading for help, then silence.
That day, we lost part of our team—friends, colleagues, people who had been with us from the beginning.
Escaping Hell
When I finally reached a safe zone and saw Israeli soldiers, my body collapsed. My legs could not hold me. My chest burned. My mind felt shattered.
Hundreds were killed that day. Friends, colleagues, people standing in line for our food just hours before. People who came for a festival of peace—not for war. I still don’t understand how I survived.
What it Means to Be Druze after October 7
As Druze, we have always been part of Israel’s defense. We serve side by side with Jews, protecting the country and all its citizens. I have always believed in unity and coexistence. But October 7 taught me something deeper:
Radical Islam does not differentiate.
It does not see religion.
It does not see background.
It does not see humanity.
It sees only targets.
As a Druze, the terrorists tried to kill me, my brother, and our team. They did not care who we were.
Carrying the Trauma, Choosing to Speak
As a Druze, the terrorists tried to kill me, my brother, and our team. They did not care who we were.
Since that day, I have tried to rebuild my life. I opened my restaurant in New York—Taboonia—to continue bringing goodness into the world.
I told myself: “If evil tried to destroy me, I will respond with love, with food, with purpose.” But the fear remains.
The memories are still alive. The nightmares return. Still, I choose to speak.
I choose to tell my story. Not for politics, not for attention, but out of responsibility.
The world must understand: What happened at Nova was not a “conflict.” It was a massacre of innocent people. A massacre fueled by an extremist ideology that does not value human life.
Why I Write This
When I was asked to write about my experience as a Druze confronting radical Islam, I knew I had to say yes. Because my story is not only mine. It is the story of every survivor. Of every family that lost someone. Of every person who saw hatred up close.
Radical Islam tried to kill me. It tried to kill my brother and our team. It tried to murder hundreds in one morning. It did not care who we were. And that is why the world must unite against extremism. It threatens all of us, no matter where we come from.
Hope after Darkness
Despite everything, I still believe in peace. I believe coexistence is possible.
I believe the vast majority of people—Jews, Muslims, Christians, Druze—want to live well, raise their children, build—not destroy.
I survived the Nova massacre, and surviving carries responsibility: Responsibility to speak. Responsibility to remember. Responsibility not to let hatred win.
If my story can help someone understand what really happened there, I have done my part.
