“The smell of my mom’s clothes” has been the hardest part, said Ziv, 35, as volunteers carted a TV, microwave and throw pillows out of her home. He, too, lived in Beeri, in a different neighborhood; militants came to his door that day but left when they couldn’t get in. He is staying in Tel Aviv now, unsure what the future holds.
Ziv spoke to The Washington Post on the condition that he is identified by only his first name to protect his privacy.
Apart from the movers, and the booms of Israeli artillery fired toward Gaza, a funereal stillness sits over this small community, whose name has become synonymous with the ravages of Oct. 7. While a handful of people have moved back to Beeri, the majority of survivors have sought refuge in hotels, passing through only to grab belongings.
The lush kibbutz, once home to around 1,000 people, has become a monument to ruin. Most buildings — some 200 out of 350 — were damaged in the attack, riddled with bullet holes or blackened by flames as militants set fire to homes with residents still inside. A pink tricycle gathers dust. A backyard basketball hoop is toppled over, its net singed.
Of the more than 240 hostages captured by Hamas from southern Israel, almost 30 were taken from Beeri. One was Ofir Engel, who returned Wednesday with survivors and family members of other hostages to call attention to the plight of those still held in Gaza.
“They took me into a black car,” said Engel, who turned 18 in captivity. “The last thing I remember is being carried away and Yuval, my girlfriend, said ‘I love you.’”
He recalled being moved from place to place in complete darkness, “with nonstop booms all around us.”
“Every moment the hostages are there is danger,” he said.
Engel was among 110 women and children released during a pause in fighting in November. But there are more than 100 hostages still in Gaza. Last week, three were mistakenly killed by Israeli soldiers as they emerged shirtless and carrying a white flag, a devastating error that officials said violated the military’s rules of conduct.
The incident led to renewed calls from hostage families for more to be done to secure the release of the remaining captives.
“I look into the eyes of our leaders and plead. There is no price too high for human life,” said Raz Matolon, whose nieces and sister-in-law were killed in the attacks. “Don’t let the sight of the burnt houses be the end of the story.”
Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu met with some hostage families Tuesday. “Rescuing them is the highest mission,” he told them, according to a statement from the prime minister’s office. He added that he had twice sent the director of Israel’s Mossad intelligence agency, David Barnea, to Europe to try to advance the process.
CIA Director William J. Burns, the main U.S. negotiator in the hostage crisis, met with Barnea and Qatar’s prime minister in Warsaw on Monday in his latest effort to broker a new agreement.
“There’s no expectation at this point, but we are pushing it,” President Biden told reporters in Milwaukee on Wednesday.
For now, the fighting continues in a war that has killed nearly 20,000 Palestinians, according to the Gaza Health Ministry.
Ella Ben Ami, 23, is still waiting for her father, Ohad, to return. Standing outside her parents’ house in Beeri, she said she would accept any deal that brought him back.
“If it will be a cease-fire, an exchange, I don’t care anymore. I just need him back,” she said.
Her mother was released by Hamas during the pause. But she’s lost without her longtime partner, Ben Ami said: “They’re always together.”
Though the fate of the hostages has captivated the nation, Israelis across the political spectrum also want to see Hamas destroyed, saying it is the only way they can feel safe again. Netanyahu and military leaders have warned that it will be a long, grinding campaign, despite growing international pressure.
“If Hamas will still be here, I will never come back here,” Ziv said.
A small number of Beeri residents have started to return.
Shai Hegyi decided to move back to his small apartment without his parents, who lived nearby and refuse to join him. He hid there Oct. 7, hearing fighters nearby, and texted his father, asking if he should stay or try to run. His dad replied that he didn’t know.
Hegyi stayed — and survived.
“I feel safe here because I am dumb and young,” he joked, wheeling a turquoise bicycle through deserted streets. The 19-year-old said his apartment is the only place that feels like home. He most enjoys his days on the couch, drinking beer and playing video games. He sleeps like a log, he added, so the artillery doesn’t bother him.
Hegyi estimates that 10 or 20 residents have moved back permanently. He hopes others will follow.
“The people here are gone. That’s what hurts the most.”