Chen G. Schimmel is an award winning Israeli photojournalist whose documentation of October 7th and the months that followed has become an important visual record. This series includes excerpts from her first book, October 7th | Bearing Witness, which creates a visual and written account of the first year after the attacks.
Proceeds go to the SUMMIT Institute for Trauma and Post-Trauma Recovery. For more information: https://www.chengschimmel.com/
To believe in light is a choice.
When I say light, I mean believing that good things will happen. As I write these words, there are still 100 hostages in Gaza, including my brother-in-law, Tal Shoham. In the most practical way, to believe in light is to believe – even when the worst things have happened – that good things can and will happen. It is to believe Tal will be returned to us alive and well, and that all the hostages will come back home soon. It is to believe that there is still goodness and decency in this world.
Let me tell you – it’s not easy, but it is a choice.
Almost exactly a year ago today, I was heading to Be’eri, the place where I have always lived, the place that had always been home for me and my family. I was on my way to my parents’ home to light the menorah for Hanukkah. Usually, this would be a time when the entire family gathered to celebrate the holiday with light, love, and togetherness. But this time was different.
It was a few months after October 7th, the day our lives were shattered. The day when I understood I might not have a family anymore. The day 10 members of my family were brutally attacked. We had no idea where they were or if they were alive. All we knew was that the house was empty: my mother and father, Shoshan and Avshalom; my older sister Adi, her husband Tal, and their children Naveh (8) and Yahel (3); my aunt Sharon and her 12-year-old daughter Noam; and my aunt and uncle Lilach and Eviatar – all of them had disappeared.
My mind was filled with the worst fears, and all I could see was darkness. I realised that when nothing is known, believing in the worst outcome is just as much a fantasy as believing in the best outcome. When there is nothing, both dark and light can exist, and it is a choice which one we believe in. It wasn’t easy, but I found that every time I noticed my mind dwelling on darkness, I would stop, close my eyes, and imagine the best outcome. I would imagine my family alive and well. I would imagine them returning and having everything they needed. Most importantly, I would imagine they would come back to us alive and well.
After a week and a half, we received devastating news: my father, Avshalom, and my uncle, Eviatar, were murdered. We completely broke down, but then we decided to focus on life – life is what we can change. We chose to believe in and work towards saving those we could.
A week later, we received more devastating news: my aunt Lilach was murdered as well. We broke down but then picked up our broken pieces once again. We decided that where there is darkness, we will bring light. Where we can, we will choose hope. We do not want revenge for those we lost; we want to save those we can.
Every time we got bad news, it became harder to believe in the good. But again, we knew: nothing was certain – all possibilities were open, and we could choose. Every moment, we made the choice to believe they were alive and coming back.
After 50 days of not knowing if I still had a family, a miracle happened during the first deal: my mother Shoshan; my sister Adi and her children, Naveh and Yahel; and my aunt Sharon and her daughter, Noam, were released. Our hopes and prayers were finally answered – they were alive; they were here.
We kept hoping that my brother-in-law Tal and all the remaining hostages would be released, but unfortunately, the deal was broken. The rest remained behind. No real happiness could begin yet – it wasn’t enough; it’s not over yet.
A few weeks after the deal, I was on my way to Be’eri again, to light the menorah in the wreckage of my parents’ house. It wasn’t easy, but it was important. To be there again – to light the menorah amidst the ruins – was my way of bringing some light where the darkest of things happened. To bring hope and pray that Tal will be with us to light the menorah next year; to return to his children and family, to be happy and free – and with him, all the rest of the hostages that can be saved.
It’s been almost exactly a year since then, and it hasn’t been a good year. And as I write these lines, Tal is still not back. There are still 100 hostages left behind.
Today, like every day of the past year, I choose light. When the darkest thoughts creep into my head, I choose to light the candle. I choose to believe there is hope, and good news is just around the corner: it can happen, and it will happen.
Please, light the candle with me. Help us hold on to light and hope and life.
And I pray to God that, by the time you are reading this, all of them are already free. If Tal is here with us, playing with his children, and this horrific chapter is behind us – thank you. And if you’re reading this for someone you know who needs to be reminded there is light, there is hope, there is life. Close your eyes and let that light in. Make it bigger, one candle at a time.
Yuval’s father, Avshalom Haran z”l, was murdered, and seven members of his family were taken hostage from Kibbutz Be’eri on October 7th, 2023.
Written in collaboration with Chen G.Schimmel