As I sit here, wearing my white shirt and trim beard, adorned with a large black skull cap, I’m often mistaken for a regular Orthodox Jew, just one of the many who have followed a traditional path. But the truth is, my life was transformed in a single day, and I’m still reeling from the shock. My name is Barack Nixon, and this is my story.

Growing up in a Yemenite family, I was always drawn to spirituality and tradition. My father, a righteous man, instilled in me a sense of respect and responsibility towards others. As a teenager, I would help out at the synagogue and make sure to keep the Sabbath. But somehow, during my Army days and afterward, I drifted away from my faith.

It wasn’t until after the Jewish New Year that I felt an inner stirring to reconnect with my roots. I started keeping the Sabbath, buying a hot plate, and eating with my family. I even stayed up all night to pray in the synagogue. It was during this period of spiritual renewal that I stumbled upon the Nova Festival, which was scheduled to take place on October 7th.

I was torn between my newfound commitment to keeping the Sabbath and my desire to attend the festival with my friends. My mother was upset when I told her I was going to leave, but I reassured her that if we kept two Sabbaths, God would protect us. Despite my reservations, we decided to go ahead and attend the festival.

As we arrived at the festival grounds, the surprise attack began. At first, I didn’t realize what was happening, but then I saw someone lying on the ground, dead. Panic set in as we tried to find our friends and flee together. That’s when I saw a friend from Aula offering me shelter in his car. I refused, feeling responsible for my friends’ safety.

As we were trying to find each other, two bullets hit the car, killing everyone inside. The friend who had offered me shelter managed to load 12 people into his car and sped off. We spotted their car and saw our friends heading towards it, but just as we approached, a missile struck it, blowing everything up.

Now we were not only without a car but also faced with the threat of a deadly mob and terrorists entering the festival area. It was then that the horrific reality of our situation finally sank in. I began to plead with God to help us get home safely, promising to keep every Sabbath and urge my friends to come back to God.

As we ran through the fields, dodging bullets and grenades, something propelled me to turn back and head towards the festival area again. Despite knowing it was crawling with terrorists, I felt compelled to return. We reached the festival area once more, hiding under the stage and in bathrooms as we tried to escape.

It was during those eight hours of hiding that God became real to me. I prayed non-stop, repeating phrases like “God I love you so much” and “Forgive me for whatever I’ve done.” I promised to fulfill every law of God’s if only He would save me.

When we finally emerged from the toilet stall where we had been hiding, we saw that everyone else had been killed. The IDF soldiers took us out of the stall and helped us into an evacuation vehicle. As we walked through the carnage, I saw eight of my friends lying murdered on the ground. It was a pathway of death and destruction.

But amidst all that chaos and horror, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and gratitude for having made it out alive. When we returned home to Aula, my family welcomed me with open arms, tears of joy streaming down their faces.

As I look back on that fateful day, I am reminded that God is always with us, even in the darkest of times. He holds our hands through every step of our journey, guiding us towards redemption and transformation. My story is one of faith, hope, and resilience – a testament to the power of prayer and trust in a higher power.