On a quiet beach in southern India, a group of parents gathered at the shoreline, each of them writing their child’s name in the sand – names of sons and daughters murdered at the Nova music festival on October 7, 2023.
As the waves crept in, one name vanished before the rest. Ron. Yoram, Ron’s father, stood in silence.“It hit him hard,” one parent recalled. But the moment wasn’t just metaphor. It was memory.
Ron Yehudai, 25, had also been erased. Not by nature – but by terror. As the massacre unfolded, Ron sought refuge in a rubbish container alongside 15 others. Hidden and silent, he texted his father. At 11.39am, he sent Yoram a message: “Everything is okay, I’ll keep you updated.”
It was the last time Yoram would hear from his son. Seven minutes later, Hamas terrorists discovered the group. Nine people, including Ron, were murdered on the spot. “I carry him with me,” says Yoram. On his leg is a tattoo – a perfect replica of one Ron had inked on himself. “I carry him on my skin. And in everything I do.”
The parents at Kochi synagogue
Yoram didn’t come to India because it was a dream trip they had planned together. He came because Ron never would. The spiritual trip was organised by A Good Land, a volunteer therapeutic space established in the Sitria moshav by Einat Haimovitch, Liron Davidov and Yiftah Shahar after October 7. The trip was offered to bereaved parents as a chance to heal – or just somewhere new to grieve.
Once in what Yoram now calls “Mama India”, the group looked for signs of their children – and his came on a hike towards Mount Arunachala. At the foot of the hill – on a screen nearby, a 7Up advert played. And every member of the group immediately spotted that the man in the ad looked just like Ron. Same posture. Same gentle grin. He was even wearing a yellow shirt – Ron’s favourite colour as a devoted fan of the Beitar Jerusalem football team.
Yoram Yehudai beside his sign and below his son Ron
“That was my sign,” said Yoram, who posed beside the hoarding with
a smile that delighted some of the accompanying empathetic Good Land team. Yoram continued to look for more connections to his son, but found solace in the people. “They were so kind when we told them who we were. A Tuk Tuk driver listened to my story then asked if he could put a sticker of my Ron on his dashboard, ‘so he’ll ride with me.’ It meant everything. The smallest gestures – they stay with you.”
Yaira Gutman, mother of October 7 victim Tamar, almost didn’t go on
the trip. “I didn’t want to travel with them,” she says. “I was avoiding people – even just going for coffee. I needed to be alone.” But someone from the group asked one of her other daughters to convince her. She did. “Now I’m so happy I went,” Yaira says. “It was so important for me.”
Above left: Orly and Yaira, below their daughters Yuval and Tamar
Tamar was the youngest of Yaira’s four daughters. She was studying law. She loved family and beauty, and called her mother constantly. “She used to call me two or three times a day. Now I travel with her photo. I open it when I miss her. I talk to her in my heart.”
Tamar had endured serious illness – Crohn’s disease and a tumour in her brain membranes – but she was joyful and full of life. The charm of India was not lost on Yaira and Yoram, and they knew when waking each day that they weren’t alone.
From top left: Zur Saidi,Omri Ram, Ben Uri and Aviad Halevi
For among the group was Dudi Saidi mourning his son Zur, 29, who had planned to propose to his girlfriend during a trip to Australia. Zur died with his childhood friends Omri Ram and Aviad Halevi, shot while fleeing in a car.
Menashe Ram, Omri’s father, was in India, too, as were Rita and Menashe Uri carrying the loss of son Ben, 31, a veteran of the 2014 Gaza war, who suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. Ben recorded himself meditating in a sewage pipe before he was killed.
Yoram comforted by Manny Manzuri who lost daughters Norelle and Roya, when they were murdered with Norelle’s boyfriend Amit Cohen.
Manny Manzuri lost both daughters: Norelle, 25, and Roya, 22, who were murdered alongside Norelle’s boyfriend Amit Cohen. The Manzuris moved from Los Angeles to Israel in 2010. After losing Roya, they campaigned for the hostages, hoping Norelle was still alive – until they were told she was dead during a Zoom call with President Joe Biden.
“I think about that father who lost both daughters and a son-in-law,” says Yaira. “He told us: ‘The day before, I had a family. The day after, my house was empty.’ How do you live with that?”
From top left: Dvir Rahamim,Arie Alkind, Shaked Habani and Ofek Arbiv
Living with the knowledge that their son, Dvir, 23, was murdered after returning to help others is what group members Hagit and David Rahamim have to do, and sharing the agony is Ilana Arbiv, mother of 21-year-old paratrooper Ofek, and Orly Ben Yehuda, whose daughter Yuval, 26, snuck out while she slept, hoping to spare her mother worry.
The need for worry has passed, replaced by agony that for more than 600 days has consumed mothers such as Gania Alkind, who was in Germany when her son, Arie, texted from the Nova festival. She didn’t know he was at the party, but in his voice message he told her he had been shot and she heard his last breath.
Bella Habani, in India without her husband, knew he would be at the weekly meeting with friends of their murdered 21-year-old daughter, Shaked. On October 7, as she hid from the terrorists, Shaked replied to army buddies on WhatsApp who wanted to set up a meeting. Shaked posted two options: “A. I’m coming no matter what; B. I’m not coming, I loved you all, but you can’t bring back the dead.”
Planting trees in memory of their children
Together, the Good Land group journeyed from Chennai to Kochi. They circled sacred mountains, prayed in ashrams, planted trees, danced with strangers and said Kaddish in the ancient synagogue of Fort Kochi. In Mahabalipuram, they were welcomed by sculptors. In Auroville, they explored a utopian vision of community. On the beach, they held a night ceremony for their “beloved flowers”.
“We were in a bubble,” Yaira says.“No phones. No news. Just India. Just us. Our pain. Our children.” She began to notice life again. “I started putting on make-up. I looked in the mirror and asked, ‘Does this shirt fit?’ Before, I didn’t care. But in India… I started to feel like a human being again.” She pauses. “I heard birds again. I hadn’t heard birds since Tamar…”
When the parents returned home, Yoram was among the impassioned group who, in March, tried to attend a parliamentary debate at the Knesset. They wanted answers with dignity, not confrontation, but when only 10 individuals were permitted entry, tensions escalated. Grieving father Yoram was thrown to the ground by security officers.
Yoram writing his son’s name in the sand
Yoram tries to avoid the news and Yaira can’t stop watching, but the world’s misunderstanding stings. “People chant ‘From the river to the sea’ – but they don’t understand it means no place for us. That’s genocide,” says Yaira, whose husband didn’t join the India trip. “He says when he’s with the other parents, he sees his own face – and he can’t breathe.”
At first, Yaira was angry. “But I understand now. He feels he didn’t protect Tamar. He never says it – but I know.” Sigal, Yoram’s wife and Ron’s mother, also didn’t go to India – she wasn’t ready, but commemorating her son’s memory at a Knesset event, she carried a framed photo of him and a bouquet adorned with his favourite slogan: “You only live once, just f***ing do it.”
Adi Fainaru Kotler, a film-maker, decided to join the group at the last minute. “Beyond documenting this emotional trip, the camera became a significant therapeutic tool,” she says. “There is a sense that the topic has been thoroughly explored. But this isn’t about the massacre. It’s about parents who lost everything – and still choose to live.”
Yoram calls it a chapter. “One chapter in a long journey that began on one day – October 7 – and will continue until our last.”
