PASSIFIUME: Israeli man shares tale of hope after Oct. 7 attack

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OTTAWA — I first met Rami Davidian at the Nova Music Festival site in southern Israel last March.

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Upon arriving at the site — a sandy, lightly-treed lot in the Negev desert full of memorials to the victims of Palestinian terror kilometres from Gaza — everyone knew who he was.

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I remember a man with tears in his eyes approaching Davidian, sobbing something in Hebrew as the two men embraced.

Davidian’s story became a rare tale of hope in the wake of the tragedy that was Oct. 7, 2023.

Summoned from his home in nearby Moshav Patish via a frantic WhatsApp message begging rescue of a young man caught in the attack, the heroism and bravery Davidian displayed were only matched by the horrors he was forced to witness.

“This is a different way of therapy,” Davidian told me this week, in Ottawa as part of Tel Aviv University Canada’s Trauma to Triumph program, committed to helping Israelis heal from the horrors of that day.

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Davidian was joined by Amit Parizer, Romi Harari, and Zohar Rubinstein — survivors of the Nova terror attacks who owe their lives to his heroism.

“It’s the first time we’ve felt we can share our personal stories, to share and to inform as many people as we could,” Parizer told the Toronto Sun.

“People outside of Israel don’t really know what happened.”

The horrors began just as dawn broke with a rocket attack ahead of a ground assault, which saw scores of Palestinian terrorists storm into Israel using trucks, motorcycles and paragliders.

The attack left 378 concertgoers dead, and 44 taken into Gaza as hostages.

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Armed Palestinians opened fire on running crowds while others committed unspeakable sexual crimes against men and women unable to escape their clutches.

Those found hiding were either executed by armed gunmen or killed by grenades tossed into shelters.

Using his car, Davidian drove hundreds of people to safety while also gathering personal effects to help family members identify deceased loved ones among the burned-out cars, dead concertgoers and body parts littering the highway.

When I visited last year, that road still bore scars and scorch marks from the attacks, but was paved over during my most recent visit in March.

“It’s important to share what we’ve been through so people outside of Israel can understand what we went through that day, and what Israel is going through now,” Harari said. “I have the responsibility — if that’s what I can do I will be strong in myself and do it for Israel and the hostages that are still there (in Gaza,) and for those who aren’t here.”

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As word of Davidian’s rescues spread, his phone lit up with text messages from people begging for help.

Among them was Parizer, who became separated from Rubinstein and Harari and was hiding from a gang of Palestinian men hunting Israeli survivors.

Davidian, who saw her message, arrived to rescue her — convincing the Palestinian thugs in Arabic that Israeli soldiers were coming and must flee before their arrival.

He drove Parizer to his home where Harari and Rubinstein were waiting for her, the pair making the long trek to his farm on foot.

“He’s a hero,” Rubinstein told me. “Not just for us, but to a lot of people in Israel.”

Parizer agreed.

“If he didn’t save me, I don’t know what … it would have had a different ending.”

Despite receiving acclaim throughout Israel and the world, Davidian — who doesn’t speak English — still gets bashful when confronted by his heroism.

“We were raised in Judaism to save lives, not take lives,” he said in Hebrew. “I laid down my life for others, because that’s what we’re taught to do.”

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