In a week when thoughts have turned to red, white, and blue — and the celebration of America at 250 (more on that later) — I traveled to the south of Israel.
I’ve been there many times since October 7, including just two days after the horrific events of what Israelis call “Black Saturday.” Notably, today marks 1,000 days since then.
If I told you that, on this week's visit, I went to watch surfers at the beach, drank wine made by an artisanal winemaker, and attended the laying of a cornerstone for a new building, you might think life there had all returned to normal.
But nothing is normal. Or rather, the very definition of normal needs to be rethought after almost three years of war and anguish.
The surfing? That was therapy.
We were at Zikim Beach, the beach in Israel closest to Gaza, where 18 people were murdered after Hamas terrorists came ashore by boat on October 7. Today, it’s one of the sites for HaGal Sheli — “My Wave” — a program supported by UJA that uses surfing to help people heal from mental trauma.
One of the surfing instructors, a lifelong resident of nearby Kibbutz Nir Oz, shared that of his 20 family members living at the kibbutz on October 7, eight had been killed or kidnapped. He’d survived that day only by holding the handle to his safe room door firmly closed for over 12 hours. Unable to move forward for many months after, he described how HaGal Sheli had lifted him out of deep despondency. And now he was there to do the same for others.
For those (like me) who are unfamiliar with the ethos of surfing, here’s what was shared: In the unpredictability of a wave, there are things you learn you can control and things you cannot. Nature and your own strength and skill work together, physical balance a pathway to mental balance.
HaGal Sheli, which operates across Israel, is just one of the many mental health programs we fund. Because some will find healing in the waves, others from working the land or listening to music, and some from more traditional talk therapy. When a trauma affects so many people, there’s no one-size-fits-all response. Available treatments must be as varied as the people themselves.
Kibbutz Nir Oz is a place where the scale of loss is almost impossible to comprehend: Roughly a quarter of the kibbutz was killed or kidnapped on October 7.
Among the oldest hostages taken that day from Nir Oz was Gadi Mozes, then 79, who spent 482 days in captivity in Gaza. His wife, Efrat Katz, was murdered.
I’d first met Gadi at our New York office about seven months after his release. He and other members of the kibbutz had come to request our support in helping them rebuild. I vividly recall Gadi at that meeting, bristling with urgency about the need to return to Nir Oz.
On Monday, I had the incredible privilege of visiting Gadi at his beautiful new home on his beloved kibbutz. He’s 82 now and has a new girlfriend, age 77.
As we were sitting in his sun-drenched living room, Gadi turned to us and said with quiet intensity: “Anachnu po” — We are here. Nir Oz and its people will carry forward. And so will Israel.
Then the wine.
On September 15, 2023, Gadi and his friend Gideon Pauker — who was murdered just three weeks later on October 7 — had harvested grapes from their small vineyard on the kibbutz. During his days in captivity, Gadi said he’d often wondered what happened to the grapes from that last harvest.
The answer came as Gadi offered us wine from a bottle made with those very grapes. They’d been in barrels underground and had survived the devastation. With tears, we drank a very special l’chaim — to Gadi, to the residents of Nir Oz, and to all Am Yisrael, the people of Israel.

