The Cruelty Was the Point

Kfar Aza, Israel — Located less than two miles from the Gaza border lies Kibbutz Kfar Aza, a serene community of kibbutzniks founded in the 1930s by Moroccan and Egyptian Jews fleeing persecution. Since its founding, the kibbutz has come to be known for its fostering of cutting-edge environmental initiatives, as well as its general desire to foster peaceful relations with its Gazan neighbors.

But on the day I visited, it was something entirely different. As the community closest to the Gaza border, it was the first to be infiltrated by Hamas terrorists and Palestinian civilians on October 7 (through three different entrances, to be exact). The sweet, joyful village, full of humble and cozy homes, was ravaged when more than 100 rabid murderers intent on killing Jews scaled the two fences separating the community from Gaza. Of the community’s 960 residents, 66 were murdered, 18 were kidnapped, and one remains unaccounted for.

Walking through Kibbutz Kfar Aza is akin to walking through an apocalypse where time has abruptly stopped. In the sink are dishes from the previous night’s Shabbat dinner, while overturned furniture and personal belongings litter the street. Some backyards still have their sukkot standing, a remnant of the holiday on which the massacre occurred. Entire houses have been burned to the ground, with whatever few walls still standing riddled with holes from bullets and shrapnel. Hamas shot everything and anything indiscriminately in each home — washing machines, refrigerators, furniture — before murdering entire families, down to the babies. Indeed, Kibbutz Kfar Aza was one site where relief workers found Israeli babies and toddlers decapitated.

The point was not just to kill Jews. The point was unadulterated, abject cruelty. As one resident, Hanan Dann, told me: “You don’t know who’s been killed, kidnapped, raped, or burned.”

One home I visited was simply a charred shell, the roof having entirely disappeared. I learned from Hanan that a mother, father, and one-year-old child had lived there. Palestinian civilians had looted the home, joining in Hamas’s savagery, before opening a canister of cooking gas and lighting the home on fire with the family inside. The family managed to narrowly escape, navigating the roads out of the kibbutz for two hours while covered in severe burns. A neighbor informed me that the mother just woke up from her injuries two to three weeks ago.

I entered another home that still smelled of death. An Israeli soldier informed me that a young woman had lived there with her husband. At 9:30 a.m., she had texted her family’s WhatsApp group warning them of the terrorists and telling them that she had entered her home’s safe room. By the time Israeli forces had arrived, the living-room sofa was covered in her blood — from the location of her death, it became apparent that Hamas had dragged her from her safe room and executed her.

Another home, inhabited by a father and son, remained covered in shrapnel holes, while the smell of burning debris still permeated the air. But the door of the home’s safe room tells the real story. Tens of bullets surround the door handle, indicating that Hamas knew the doors did not lock from the inside and that inhabitants of the room would be desperate to hold the handle shut. Many victims, such as this father and son, died clutching the door handle of their safe room.

I walked around Kibbutz Kfar Aza for over an hour. As you travel toward the back of the kibbutz, the houses become less large, yet the damage grows more extreme. The humbler homes, belonging primarily to young couples with small children, were some of the most heavily destroyed. According to reports, Hamas had detailed information regarding the layout of the kibbutz, leading residents to believe that Gazan work-permit holders — the very ones in whose behalf they had once advocated — may have assisted in providing information. Again, the cruelty was the point. They knew where the children were.

Hanan declared with a sigh that, prior to October 7, “we had a beautiful life here.” “We knew the rules.” Skirmishes would occur every few months, instances of rocket fire might last an hour or two, and something larger might occur at less frequent intervals. But what happened October 7 was unlike anything imaginable. Indeed, prior to October 7, many in the kibbutz had come to believe that the Gazans wanted peace, or at least had accepted more or less sharing the land with Israel.

It is unclear when the area will be deemed repaired and secure for the return of the community’s residents. At the current moment, roughly 200,000 Israelis remain internally displaced.

As we weaved our way toward the entrance of the kibbutz, I noticed a lit grill with kebabs sitting atop it. It seemed that an older couple, former residents of the kibbutz, was preparing a barbeque. Almost akin to whiplash, the wife’s sweeping of the porch lay in stark contrast to the devastation around us. But it also served as a reminder of the indomitable Israeli spirit that has animated the country for decades and ultimately allowed it to prevail, despite being surrounded by evil.

As we pass, the husband smiles at our group.

The author of this piece is on a trip sponsored by the World Zionist Organization.