“They were murdered because they were Jews, not because they were Israelis.”
This realization struck Anat Elkabetz with absolute clarity as she huddled for 19 hours in a safe room on October 7, 2023, while Hamas terrorists rampaged through Kibbutz Kfar Aza. Her 23-year-old daughter Sivan was among the more than 50 residents murdered that day.
The October 7 attacks have forced many secular Israelis to confront a truth they had long sidestepped: their persecution stemmed not from their nationality but from their Jewishness. For Anat, this awakening came at the highest possible cost.
“The starting point for all my life today – which is truly a new life for me – is what happened to me on October 7th,” Anat told the Israeli newspaper Karov Eilecha in a recent interview. “It was clear to me from the first moment that Sivan, along with the other twelve hundred murdered that Saturday, were murdered solely because they are Jews.”
Rediscovering Jewish Identity Through Tragedy
Before October 7, Anat considered herself a believer but not particularly religious. Now, her apartment in Rosh Ha’ayin is filled not only with pictures of Sivan but also with Jewish books, verses, and prayers – external signs of an internal transformation.
“When I encountered the inscription ‘Sivan Elkabetz HY”D’ [may God avenge her blood], I began to wonder: if she was murdered as a Jew, what does it mean to be Jewish?” This question launched Anat on a journey to understand her heritage and identity.
Unlike many who lose faith after tragedy, Anat experienced the opposite. “I’m not angry at God, that was clear to me from the first moment,” she explains. “I’ve always believed in God. I grew up in a traditional home, we lit Shabbat candles, there was Kiddush at home and we would go to synagogue. At no stage in my life was I disconnected from God and Judaism, I was always a believer, but after what happened to us I feel that despite Sivan leaving this world, she lives inside me.”
The Attack on Kfar Aza
The Elkabetz family lived scattered across Kibbutz Kfar Aza in four separate houses. Anat and her husband Shimon listened to the horror unfold around them – gunshots, smoke, shouting in Arabic – while receiving desperate messages through the kibbutz WhatsApp group.
Sivan and her boyfriend Naor Hasidim were killed in their small apartment in the ‘Dor Tzair’ (Young Generation) neighborhood, which was completely devastated by Hamas terrorists. They are now buried side by side in Ashdod.
Sivan’s House: Documenting Horror
When Anat first entered Sivan’s bullet-riddled apartment after the massacre, she instinctively began documenting everything with her phone’s camera.
“All the walls and floor were covered in blood. I will never forget the experience where I say to myself: I never thought blood could be spilled like water.”
These photographs became the foundation for “Sivan’s House,” a memorial exhibition in Sivan’s apartment showing the reality of what happened on October 7. The displays include photos of Sivan and Naor in happier times alongside documentation of the attack’s aftermath: bloodstains, bullet holes, and traces of grenade shrapnel. One inscription left by Israeli soldiers who recovered the bodies reads: “Human remains on the sofa.”
Despite resistance from some kibbutz residents concerned about privacy, Anat insisted on keeping the house open to visitors. “If we don’t open the place for visits to show what happened there, then we ourselves are protecting Hamas!” she said.
From Individual Grief to National Mission
For Anat, personal grief has expanded into a national mission centered on Jewish identity. She has observed a shift in how Israelis perceive what happened on October 7.
“When I guided groups of visitors inside ‘Sivan’s House’ and I would tell them that they were murdered because they were Jews, there were some who made sure to correct me and said ‘they were murdered because they were Israelis,'” Anat recalls. “Today, people no longer correct me… Hamas explained to us and to the world that we speak completely different languages. They themselves explain to those who didn’t want to understand: we will destroy you because you are Jews.”
This recognition represents a substantial change for many Israelis who previously defined themselves primarily through their nationality rather than their religious heritage.
A Mission to Spread Jewish Consciousness
Anat now sees herself with a clear purpose: “My mission is that as the Jewish people, we understand our place within the Jewish tapestry, because each of us has a role that begins the moment we are born. This role is to recognize and know our identity and understand who we are.”
As an educator, she dreams of implementing identity-focused education in Israeli schools, starting from kindergarten through high school. She envisions tenth-grade students visiting Sivan’s house in Kfar Aza before their Holocaust education trips to Poland, to “see the holocaust that was done now to the Jewish people because of their Jewishness.”
“We are first and foremost Jews, and we need to explore that,” she says. “The ABC of being Jewish is recognizing that it’s strength, it’s power, it’s a choice, and it’s not something we need to hide or be afraid of, it’s not something we should be ashamed of.”
She continues: “Here in Israel, any Muslim can take out a small carpet from his bag and kneel and pray and it doesn’t bother anyone, but the act of putting on tefillin bothers some people. We need to stop being afraid of ourselves, to be proud that we are Jews.”
Remembering Sivan
Throughout her grief and new mission, Anat keeps Sivan’s memory alive not just as a victim but as the remarkable person she was – a computer science student described as having “a wise soul like a 90-year-old grandmother” despite being just 23.
“She was a person full of love, and she managed to give everyone she knew a feeling that their place with her was unique and special,” says Anat. “None of them and no one in the world can fill her place.”
Looking Forward
Despite everything, Anat plans to return to Kfar Aza. “I see myself returning to Kfar Aza because I want to be close to Sivan,” she says. On her birthday, which fell on Purim night this year, she read the Megillah in Sivan’s house.
Throughout her journey, Anat feels guided by both Sivan and God. “Whenever I say ‘Sivan,’ I feel that God is with her,” she says. “I feel that she shortened the path for me… Sivan is guiding me, because everything I dream of doing, I succeed at.”
As Israel continues to grapple with the aftermath of October 7, Anat’s story illuminates how tragedy has awakened a deeper sense of Jewish identity for many Israelis. Through her pain, she has found not comfort but purpose.
“I had to lose my daughter to reach this place,” she reflects. “Why did I have to reach this age and lose my daughter so that as an educator I could say that what I want to do today in the education system is to deal with the place of Jewish identity?!”
“As long as I live, she lives with me,” Anat says of her daughter. “Sivan, for me, is my private loss, but she is also a loss within a larger tapestry of collective loss.”
