1 year since Oct. 7, the lives of these Israelis and Palestinians are forever changed
Ordinary Palestians and Israelis reflect on a year of carnage and chaos that shows no signs of slowing down
One year into the bloodiest chapter in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, millions of people's lives have been upended — with homes destroyed, families scattered and loved ones taken, killed or missing.
On Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas and other militants stormed into Israel, killing 1,200 people, and taking more than 250 people hostage, about 100 of whom remain unaccounted for, according to Israeli figures.
Israel responded with a siege and military offensive in Gaza that, to date, has killed nearly 42,000 people, according to Gaza's health ministry. About 1.9 million Palestinians, more than 90 per cent of Gaza's population, have been forced from their homes, and the enclave is now in a state of ruin and humanitarian crisis.
Meanwhile, the carnage continues unabated, as the war spreads into neighbouring Lebanon.
CBC Radio's As It Happens and The Current spoke to people whose lives have been irrevocably changed by the events of the last year. These are their stories.
She just wants the cycle of vengeance to stop
One year ago, Michal Halev was keeled over, incapacitated by the news that her only son had been murdered.
Laor Abramov, a 20-year-old aspiring DJ, had his young life cut short at the hands of Hamas militants at the Supernova music festival in Israel on Oct. 7.
In those early moments of grief, Halev found herself speaking to her son as if he was still there.
"I told him, if this is how it's going to be now that I am left here in this world without you, then I will have to, I want to, and I will dedicate myself to doing something beautiful and good and huge in your name," she told As It Happens host Nil Kӧksal.
"I can't have him die for nothing. Otherwise there's no reason for me to stay here and breathe one more breath."
For Halev, that has meant connecting with other grieving parents from both sides of the conflict through an organization called the Parents Circle-Families Forum, while doing her best to prevent others from joining their ranks.
Shortly after Abramvo was killed, she posted a video online begging those in power not to enact vengeance in his name.
"I couldn't bear the thought of another mother and her child going through this hell," she said.
"Naively, I thought that if I spoke and I would show the people who we are and what happened to us, that I would have the power to prevent the breakout of this full-scale war."
One year later, as the war grows and spreads, Halev still clings to the dream of peace.
"I've lost everything," she said. "But yet I feel that there is hope for other people and their children and their grandchildren."
He worries he'll never have a home to return to
Isam Hammad has been thinking a lot about his children.
After fleeing Israel's airstrikes on Gaza City, he was eventually able to get his family to Ireland, where his kids have just started a new school year — in a new language.
"All of a sudden, rather than studying English as a foreign language, they are now faced with all the subjects at school in English … they're studying Shakespeare," Hammad, an engineer, told The Current's Matt Galloway.
Hammad said his kids had excellent grades before, and he's doing everything he can to help them catch up. They were able to travel to Ireland because one of Hammad's children, who has cerebral palsy, was born there and holds Irish citizenship. The family arrived in the country in spring, but they don't yet have permanent housing, and Hammad is waiting on a work permit.
"We have gone into a huge problem, huge catastrophe, and we are trying to look ahead … things are difficult, but we are trying to cope," he said.
One of his worst moments was receiving a video that showed his home in Gaza City had been completely destroyed — taking his entire life savings with it. He now doesn't know if he will ever be able to return to Gaza, given the enormity of the destruction.
"What about my children who are in school and in university? Should I leave them [here] or should I take them to the unknown? All these questions I cannot answer," he said.
The Irish government only agreed to take in Hammad, his wife and his five youngest children. His adult children and his grandchildren were not given visas for Ireland, and are now living in Egypt. He also still has friends and relatives in Gaza, who he says are short on food and water, and at constant risk of bombing. He watches what's happening in Gaza with grief, and says world leaders should be doing more to reach a ceasefire.
"How many innocent people have died because of this?" he said.
He got his family back. Not everyone's so lucky
Avihai Brodutch sometimes feels those in power "forgot that there is a peace option."
While Brodutch's wife and three children were held captive by Hamas, he held a vigil outside the ministry of defence in Tel Aviv — hoping to shift the Israeli government's priorities.
"What I saw is that everybody wanted revenge," said Brodutch, who was injured and became separated from his family in the Oct. 7 attack on his kibbutz, Kfar Aza.
"But I didn't want revenge. I wanted my family."
Brodutch's wife, Hagar, and their three children remained in captivity for 51 days, until they were released in November's brief ceasefire. Brodutch said it's "unbelievable" that Israel's government didn't secure their release sooner — and that so many hostages remain in captivity.
"Sometimes you have to go into war in order to eliminate your enemy so they don't kill you. I understand that," he said. "But we have to get our priorities straight … to get our living back."
Brodutch rejects Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's insistence that Israel's offensive will continue until "total victory" is secured. He wants to see a lasting peace, but doesn't think any side currently has the political will or leadership to pursue it.
"If we can make peace, if we have somebody on the other side that's willing to make peace, we should go for peace," said Brodutch.
Brodutch and his family are now in Sheffayim, in central Israel. He said they're doing well now, despite what they endured — but he's still processing the past year.
"I still haven't cried about any of my friends and my community and a lot of others that have been killed," he said.
Her brother looked out for her. Now she's looking out for his son
Israa Alsaafin hasn't removed her brother's number from her cellphone, where he's listed as "Ahmed SOS."
That's because Ahmed was always the person she called for help and support. Now he's gone, killed in an Israeli airstrike on Gaza one year ago.
"I still have a hole in my heart," the Ottawa woman said. "The only hope for me is maybe hugging his son when he arrives in Canada."
But getting her surviving family members to Canada is easier said than done.
One of Alsaafin's brothers and his wife are here now. But her parents and other siblings, along with Ahmed's wife and son, remain trapped in limbo in Egypt, waiting for a green light from Canada.
They escaped Gaza on April 28, not because Canada stepped in to help, but because Alsaafin fundraised and emptied her family's life savings to pay $70,000 to a private company to get them across the border.
It was a particularly traumatic experience for her father. In 1948, his own father was driven from his home, along with tens of thousands of others, during what Palestinians call the Nakba, or catastrophe.
"He was non-stop crying all the way to Cairo," she said. "He knew that maybe deep inside that he left, like his father did when he left his village, and maybe he's not going to go back."
Palestinian trauma, she says, passes from one generation to the next, despite each parent's desperate attempt to break the cycle. Ahmed, too, dreamed of a better future for his son.
"That's why I feel a burden," she said, "to make sure that his son is actually living a better life."
Interviews produced by Kate Swoger, Sarah Jackson, Niza Lyapa Nondo and Alison Masemann
