"When Shlomi went to work at a party on Thursday, two days before the massacre, we had an issue with the water heater at home. Shlomi wrote to me, 'I hope you'll manage with the water,' and also, 'I'm sorry to leav you alone.' Suddenly, every word had a different meaning, including the fact that he left his wedding ring at home. I don't know what prompted me to ask him to leave it, but I told him, for the first time, to leave it. I wondered if it brought us bad luck," says Miran Ziv, his wife after he was abducted from the Nova Music Festival near Kibbutz Re'im.
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Miran and Shlomi live in Moshav Elkosh in Israel's north, near the border. In two weeks, both have birthdays four days apart and turn 41. They have been together for 17 years, seven of which involved attempts to get pregnant.
"We've been through so much – treatments, a difficult miscarriage, more treatments. But we didn't quit until I felt that I needed a break. It's tough when you try and fail. We were between hope and despair, between optimism and pessimism," she says. "It was just the two of us, Shlomi and me, so we are also so connected. the treatments only strengthened us; it didn't break us apart like it had happened to other couples. We are each other's world."
Take us back to October 7th
"Shlomi went to work on Thursday, two days before the massacre. He joined my late cousin, Aviv Eliyahu, who was the security manager at the Nova music festival and was murdered there. Whenever he had significant projects, he invited Shlomi to join. A month prior, he already told him that there would be a big event during the holidays, and he knew he could rely on him. Shlomi, on his part, had finished his studies in interior design and was before the start of a new job."
"Our last conversation was on Saturday morning at 8:15. He said he was running and that we would talk later. I understood that something was happening. He also told his sister, Revital, that he was running away. After that, he didn't respond anymore. The last message he received was at 9:45. We didn't know why he ran away, but we listened to the news and started to understand what was happening. Meanwhile, we also took action, called, and wrote. I spoke with our local municipal security manager and tried to gather information from every possible source. Towards the evening, we were still amid investigations, trying to digest the situation and understand what we should be doing. The three of them—Aviv, Shlomi, and Jack, a close friend from London who was also murdered —did not respond to us. It was hours of madness."
"And then, another five days of uncertainty passed. Yes, Shlomi was classified as missing. No one saw anything, heard anything. We spoke with security personnel, with whoever we could. I was at home and went out to check the balcony, maybe he had come home and was waiting for me. There were sleepless nights, I couldn't eat as well. One night, I sat outside waiting for him in the place he liked to sit until morning. I even imagined him walking home. I feel him now, and I felt him then. I knew he was alive. No one can convince me otherwise."
On Friday, cars accompanied by ambulances arrived at their home, and representatives of the authorities informed Miran that Shlomi was likely abducted to Gaza. That same night, the family learned about the murder of Aviv. Two weeks passed until they were told that Shlomi was abducted, and later, once again, that he was "likely abducted": "We experienced the entire spectrum - we have family members abducted, murdered, and also survivors."
How did you respond to the news of the abduction?
"When the cars and the ambulance arrived, I thought of the worst. When they told me that Shlomi was abducted, I held my breath for a moment, perhaps it was my hope. I felt his presence in the house, so I wanted to be in it all the time. It did me good. In the first few days, I was sure he was hiding and would show up any moment. I don't listen to rumors. I know he's okay if one can say that at all. I know he's strong enough to cope with the situation. I'm not sinking. I'm trying to maintain composure. Everyone tells me that I look strong, but I simply don't allow myself to collapse. I stand on my own two feet, thanks to him, because he trusts that I'm okay. That's what keeps me going."