The nine-month anniversary of the October 7 massacre has been marked in the most symbolic way by Ofri Bibas-Levi, the only sister of Yarden, sister-in-law of Shiri and aunt to little Kfir and Ariel. About three weeks ago, she gave birth to Afik, her third child, brother to five-year-old Toam and three-year-old Negev.
These nine months have been filled with a range of difficult, conflicting and confusing emotions: uncertainty, fear, hope, despair and faith. Balancing the need to maintain a routine at home, raise her children, engage in media interviews and fight for the country, the hostages and her own family has been a tremendous challenge.
"I mainly remember two things from that terrible day," she said. "I remember reading the frantic messages in the Kibbutz Re'im WhatsApp group. I went to my husband David and told him, 'You have to read this.' It was like a horror movie script, something unimaginable that you can't believe is happening in real life. I couldn't believe what I was reading. 'We hear terrorists on the balcony,' 'We're burning,' 'We can't breathe,' 'They're entering my house,' read a message from our neighbor Reut, who received a message from her daughter that her father, Dvir, was murdered, and she asked if anyone could go to the kids at home. I realized what could also happen to Shiri and Yarden, and at the same time, I was messaging Yarden. I asked them to lock the house, not wanting to call and make noise.
"The second memory is the images of Shiri and the kids surrounded by terrorists. There was a part above her head that looked blurry, and I said, 'This isn't real, it doesn't make sense, it's Photoshop.' Then the video came out, and she was looking around, and we were searching for a sign of Yarden. At that point, I distanced myself from the children and went into the bedroom. I told David, 'Yarden is dead, Yarden is dead.' I was convinced they took Shiri first and that Yarden was murdered. Later, when the local security officer came in and said no one was at home, we realized he might have been kidnapped too.
"For months, when I watched the video of Shiri, there was a barrier within me. I didn’t allow myself to fully connect to what I was seeing. The video shocked everyone, but I felt a sort of detachment. A few weeks ago, I watched it again, this time without subtitles, and I saw Kfir's face. It hit me in a way it hadn't before. It was too much. Their images circulate on social media, people post them, ask about them and worry about them, and that’s also hard to see. Sometimes I move on, then feel overwhelmed with guilt. But the truth is, it's just too hard."
Living on the edge
Seven months after the terror organization announced the alleged deaths of Shiri and the children, Kfir and Ariel, the family still lives in a reality of uncertainty. "There is no new information," said Ofri. "And it's important to understand—even the proof of life from Yarden, that difficult video, is relevant only to that moment. Our fears persist every minute because anything could happen to them at any time. This fear stays with us all day—how they are surviving, their condition, who is with them. It’s impossible to describe this feeling."
Kidnapping of Yarden Bibas on October 7
And comments from officials are unhelpful, including the one made by National Unity leader Benny Gantz about the alleged deaths of Shiri and the children, saying "the State of Israel is aware of their fates."
"There is a lot of attention surrounding the family, which leads to a lot of fake news circulating on social media constantly. Everyone is worried about them and wants to know their status. When Gantz said what he said, I was in the delivery room. I wasn’t connected to my phone at that moment. After the birth, I went to the ward, and only after three hours did I check my phone and saw a flood of messages. I didn’t understand what was happening until I read everything and quickly came back to reality. I don’t understand the purpose of his statement; it was irresponsible and, based on the information we have, completely unfounded. And for him to say that the Israeli government would inform the public of new information—no, absolutely not. The family should know first."
The already turbulent days are also filled with intense reports about a possible deal. But no, this doesn’t make Ofri feel optimistic, not even cautiously. "During talks of a deal, I feel the lowest," she shared. "We are inundated with irresponsible statements, sometimes from a political source, sometimes from a military one. It throws us into very difficult places; we are so used to disappointment. Everyone throws things our way, and I just want peace. People need to understand—there are people being held captive, trying to survive for nine months and they're being used as pawns.
"Why should my brother, if he and our family members are still alive and surviving, have to hear someone on the radio saying that Israel shouldn't agree to a deal? Besides undermining the deal, I really don't understand the purpose of all this talk. I just want to scream, 'Quiet!' It's heartbreaking; it makes you want to scream. Then people say the families are playing politics, and that really angers me. We’re not the ones doing this; we’re not the ones making such statements. For me, these are the hardest times. It shows in how I behave at home, with the kids. I'm on edge. I'm irritable, impatient, constantly checking for any updates after every notification. Unfortunately, we've been here before. I lower my expectations, but I still hope so much to be proven wrong."
Between hope and disappointment
After three weeks at home with the new baby and her family, Ofri went out for the first time to join the Mothers’ March. "I’m here to speak as a woman, horrified every day by the thought of the suffering other women are enduring. As a relative of an entire hostage family and as a new mother. My baby symbolizes the nine months that have passed," she said.
"During maternity leave, there's quiet, maybe too much. It gives too much time to think," she shared. "Even now, as we speak, Yarden, Shiri and the kids are on my mind. At the march, I met families I’ve known since that very Saturday, and I see the exhaustion on their faces, a fatigue and pain that can't be explained. You can see the frustration, sadness, despair, anger and disappointment because they should be here, coming home. Maybe I saw all this in them because that's what I feel."
We pause for a moment as little Afik nurses. "Throughout my pregnancy, I hoped they would be here by the time it ended and I gave birth. By the eighth month, or a little before, I came to terms with the fact that they probably wouldn't be. After the birth, there was a small hope they might somehow be there for the bris. My mind is never fully where I am; no joy is complete, something is always missing. When I left the delivery room, I wanted to send messages to everyone, but I had nothing to send to the family group because they’re not there. Now it's just me, Dad and Mom.
"Yarden would probably have cracked a joke, and Shiri would likely have asked all the questions that women and mothers do. Their absence is deeply felt. During labor, there was a moment when I said, 'Not yet, I'm not ready,' but he was already coming. It happened quite quickly. After the birth, when the kids visited me in the hospital, David told them, 'Don't touch the head, don't touch the head.' Then Toam said, 'Like with Kfir.' She remembered being there when he was born, and Shiri had asked for the same thing."
"The bris was a complicated event," she shared honestly. "In the morning, I asked David, 'Okay, and who will take pictures?' At Ariel and Kfir’s bris ceremonies, my husband David took photos, and Yarden would film our events. At the event, we were looking for them with our eyes. Sometimes I stop and say, 'None of this makes sense.' I wake up, open the window, breathe in the air and see the sun. Yarden has been in tunnels for nine months without light, without food. I can’t believe this is really our reality, especially theirs. None of what happened on October 7 has sunk in yet.
"We need to prove to ourselves once again that the values we were so proud of, like the value of life and mutual responsibility, which we’ve lost, are coming back to us. These are values I want my children to grow up with, and for all of us to know that the country did everything to bring them back. We live in fear of what might come to us, that someone might come knocking on our door too. We are on edge whenever a car passes by. I hope our children will get to meet their uncles and cousins. That I won't have to teach them who they were."