They were 10. Ten children who grew up together from almost birth, in the Strawberry kindergarten of Kibbutz Nir Oz. Had it not been for the massacre of Oct. 7, they would have all started first grade together this week at their school near the Gaza border. But only nine did — without their beloved friend Ariel Bibas. The small kibbutz was abandoned that dark Saturday to Hamas terrorists, and Ariel was not there to begin the new school year.
Ariel was supposed to be with them — organizing his backpack, preparing his school shirt, excitedly greeting first grade. Instead, nine friends from Strawberry kindergarten entered first grade without him. “We want to give them a happy beginning,” the parents said, “but inside, it tears us apart anew every day.” Ariel, the redheaded boy everyone adored, was kidnapped along with his mother Shiri and baby brother Kfir, and cruelly murdered in captivity. His father Yarden, also kidnapped, was released in the last hostage deal.
On Sunday, the nine children looked like any other first graders, eager to begin their new adventure. They arranged their new backpacks, laid out their shirts, and smiled with excitement. But behind their joy lies a heavy burden: each 6-year-old carries a story of survival from that cursed Saturday, when they hid for hours in safe rooms while terrorists roamed the kibbutz, murdering, kidnapping, and looting.
Among them are Roni Adar, whose uncle Tamir was killed defending the kibbutz and whose body is still held in Gaza; Almog Barad, whose grandfather Gideon Pauker was murdered in his home; cousins Ofri and Daniel Cunio, whose uncles Ariel and David were kidnapped to Gaza and remain there; Maayan Siman Tov Hazut, who lost her uncle Johnny, her grandmother Carol, and three young cousins — Arbel, Shahar, and Omer — all murdered in Nir Oz; Yoav Avital, whose uncle Gil was killed fighting terrorists in Moshav Yesha; Moran Yahyais, whose uncle Sagui Dekel Chen was kidnapped to Gaza and later released; Oren Aharon, who lost his grandparents Shmuel and Rachel in the months following Oct. 7; and Itamar Morg, whose grandfather David and uncle Tal Shalu were murdered in Nir Oz. Each child carries not only the memory of that day but also the absence of those they loved most.
The children now attend Elah Elementary School in Kibbutz Kfar Menachem, part of the Yoav Regional Council. They are not kept together as a single group but integrated into two different first-grade classes, so they are not defined only by their trauma.
The Nir Oz community now lives in the Carmei Gat neighborhood of Kiryat Gat. The children, once barefoot and free on kibbutz lawns, now walk city sidewalks, learn to wait at crosswalks, and adapt to an urban lifestyle. “This is their reality today,” says Koren Siman Tov Hazut, mother of Maayan, who lost both her brother Johnny and her mother Carol on Oct. 7. “They don’t know anything else. They don’t compare their lives today to what they had in Nir Oz. Today their life is in Kiryat Gat.”
Yet reminders of Nir Oz are everywhere. Outside the new residential towers are patches of grass that recall the kibbutz. Across the street, every Saturday night in the plaza of Supertech Kiryat Gat, community members gather to demonstrate for the release of the hostages. On Sunday morning, parents sent their children off to the school shuttle with wide smiles, determined that their first day of first grade would be remembered as happy and exciting. “We make this separation all the time,” one mother said, “and really try to give them a normal childhood, as much as possible.”
The children still remember Ariel. They recall him playing with them on the lawns, his mischievous smile, his boundless energy. Some ask about him, then fall silent, caught between knowing and not fully understanding. “Daniel and Ariel were very close friends,” says Paula Cunio, whose brothers-in-law Ariel and David are still hostages in Gaza. “When we were evacuated to Eilat after Oct. 7, Daniel kept asking when Ariel would come. Then he would say, actually, he’s dead and won’t return.” That dissonance, explains Koren Siman Tov Hazut, reflects their young age. “Death receives a different interpretation among children. They understand it in logical order — an adult grows old, gets sick, and dies. The death of a small child doesn’t make sense to them. My daughter Maayan told me several times, ‘But how did Ariel die if he was just born?’”
Maayan was especially close to her cousins Shahar and Arbel, who were supposed to start second grade this year. “They were like her sisters,” her mother says. “Same family, same environment.” Daniel Cunio has also changed. “My Daniel has been walking around since Oct. 7 with toy weapons, playing war games,” says Paula. “He used to be a child of tractors and fields. His idol was Johnny Siman Tov driving the kibbutz tractor. I once kept him away from information he didn’t need, but now, with two uncles still kidnapped, I can’t hide anything.”
Stav Cunio, mother of Ofri, was a close friend of Shiri and Yarden Bibas. “The truth is, it’s very hard for me that everyone from their age group is photographed together and Ariel isn’t with them,” she says. “We were one group in the kibbutz, an eternal friendship. And now they’re not here. It tears us apart every day.”
Nir Adar, brother of Tamir, who was murdered and taken to Gaza, lived with his family door to door with the Bibas family. His daughter Roni and Ariel often played together in the shared courtyard. “Ariel was a month older than Roni,” he recalls. “She remembers and knows everything, but doesn’t dwell on it. They’re moving forward. Even when they know everything, they can’t fully contain it. From my perspective, Nir Oz is already history.”
But the war is not history. His brother’s body is still held by Hamas. “Not only do the hostages not have time, we might also not find the fallen. Beyond that, I see the damage to our people who have been living in an emergency routine for so long — soldiers killed, wounded, and scarred, reserves called up again and again. For that alone, the war needs to end.
“People forgot that on that day we lost. Whatever happens, there won’t be a victory here. Those slogans are empty. We’re only managing damage now, and the war itself causes more of it. I’m not even talking about Gazans. The residents of the village opposite Nir Oz lynched my brother. People here got confused when they have mercy on them. Anyone who had the chance entered Israel and did what they did. If they could have, they would have slaughtered us all.
“Yes, it’s hard for me when people talk about the suffering in Gaza. But I have no desire for revenge, no anger in me. After Oct. 7 there was something special — people stood together. That has been forgotten. The war must end for us, first of all, for the hostages. Not for the Gazans — for us.”
First published: 17:30, 09.04.25