Since the day they escaped death on October 7, 2023, Yaniv and Anita Meoded have owned two silver chains. The first displays "Nova," in calligraphic capital letters. It recalls their attachment to this trance festival, a sub-genre of electronic music, held in the Israeli desert near the Gaza Strip. For the 42-year-old plumber, a long-time metal fan, these evenings had finally enabled him to find musical common ground with his wife, a 45-year-old conservatory-trained piano teacher. The second piece of jewelry represents the pick-up truck in which the couple managed to flee the terrorist attack, in which 364 of the 4,000 festival-goers were killed by Hamas.

That morning, Yaniv, who suffers from avascular necrosis, a serious bone disease, was enjoying the music from a raised chair and moving around only on crutches, supported by his wife. When the first rockets streaked across the sky at 6:29 am, they imagined themselves doomed on this patch of sand, far from their three children, Thea (20), Barak (13) and Lahav (12). Long hidden in the bushes and paralyzed by the ever-closer gunfire, Anita and Yaniv owed their survival only to the vehicle that managed to zigzag its way through the "horror," before picking them up with 15 other people. "We now share a common destiny with this small group," said Yaniv Meoded. To "never forget," some of them often get together around barbecues and beers, at their homes or, as on July 31 of this year, near an artificial lake south of Tel Aviv. And from now on, these 10 survivors all wear the same silver chains.

Every week, several hundred survivors gather by the lake for a "day of mutual support." Wearing checked pants and with dreadlocks down to his shoulders, Yaniv Meoded confessed to having hesitated before coming to this miniature Tribe of Nova festival. He was hoping to put some distance between himself and October 7 and its 1,195 deaths, to get back to his own life. But everything keeps bringing him back to that dark day. Even the sound of a falling tree branch reminds him of the sharp sound of assault rifle fire. No matter how much he soothes his anxieties by smoking joints "all day long," the memory of the tragedy creeps into any conversation, especially after a few beers.

In the end, he and Anita decided not to miss any of these "miracle" meetings. They talk about their suffering and help each other. Some of them, whose memories are failing because of the trauma, transcribe their own stories in small notebooks. "Some survivors haven't been able to leave their homes since last year," said Yaniv Meoded, his eyes misting behind his glasses. "So we're trying to bring them into this safe, caring space."

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