Life can change in an instant. For those of us deeply embedded in the EDM (electronic dance music) community, where music, dance, and unity are our guiding principles, October 7th marked a shift that none of us could have anticipated.
This date, which will forever be etched in our collective memory, forced us to confront the fragility of life and the brutal reality of violence.
But in the aftermath, we’ve found strength in the very community that was attacked, using our shared love for music to heal, honor, and keep moving forward.
Before October 7th, EDM communities were a big part of my life. Festivals like Nova were more than just events—they were gatherings of likeminded souls, places where peace, love, unity, and respect (PLUR) weren’t just words but a way of life.
The EDM community is unique in that it’s not just about the music; it’s about the connections we form, the trinkets we trade, and the unspoken understanding that we are all there to celebrate life in its purest form.
This sense of unity was shattered on October 7th, but the values we hold so dear have become the very things that are helping us rebuild.
Lost Lands
I remember the joy I felt at a festival just two weeks before the Supernova tragedy at the Gaza border.
It was called Lost Lands, and I flew all the way to America to attend. Dancing, laughing, and sharing moments with friends, I was blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to hit.
Even the day I returned to my home in Israel, just a day and a half before that “Black Sabbath,” my friends and I went to another event, “Life is Hardstyle.” I remember being so genuinely happy, drunk on life while being completely sober, dancing carefree until the sun came up.
When the news of the attack broke exactly one day later, it was as if the music had stopped, replaced by an eerie silence that was filled with fear, anger, and disbelief. I received messages from friends and family, asking if I was okay, and if I had been at the festival.
The realization that it easily could have been me and my friends there, and that friends of friends were among the victims, was a haunting reminder of how close we all are in this community.
The EDM community, both in Israel and abroad, has always been a source of comfort and joy for me. But in the days following the attack, it became something more.
Silence and resilience
The love and support I received from friends and family back home was heartwarming, yet it was also disheartening to see how some people who share my passion for the music and dance scene remained silent about the tragedy.
For those of us who were affected, the silence felt like a betrayal. It was as if our shared love for music and unity wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between politics and humanity.
But instead of letting this divide us, it has made me more determined to use my voice and my platform to make sure that the victims of October 7th are not forgotten.
When I go to festivals and shows, in Israel and abroad, I want to be a symbol of resilience, to show that even in the face of unimaginable horror, we will continue to dance, to live, and to honor those who can no longer do so themselves.
The next time I’m at a festival abroad, I plan to wave the Israeli flag with the Nova symbol proudly, not just as a celebration of my heritage, but as a way to keep alive the memory of those lost.
Keep moving forward
In my personal life, the events of October 7th have changed the way I approach everyday challenges. I’ve always been a positive person who tries to find the silver lining in every situation.
But now, that mindset has been reinforced by the knowledge that life is fragile and that we must cherish every moment.
When I go for runs, it can sometimes be a struggle due to asthma and other health issues, but now, I push myself harder than ever before. I imagine what it must have been like for those at the Nova festival, running for their lives with no choice but to keep going. They had to. It was life or death. This sobering thought motivates me to keep moving.
The phrase “it’s all in your head,” often used in the military to push soldiers beyond their perceived limits, has taken on new meaning for me.
When I want to stop running, when I feel like I can’t go any further, I remind myself that those at Supernova didn’t have the luxury of stopping. They had to keep going, and so must I. It’s a mental game, a way of honoring their memory by pushing myself to be stronger, both physically and mentally.
Every run, every challenge I face, is now imbued with a deeper sense of purpose. I think about the victims, the hostages and the survivors, and I remind myself that I’m here, alive, and able to make choices.
I refuse to take that for granted. Instead, I use it as fuel to keep moving forward, to keep dancing, and to keep living life to the fullest.
As we continue to navigate the aftermath of October 7th, I hold onto the motto that we will dance again. Our community, though wounded, has an unbreakable bond. We will continue to gather, to celebrate, and to honor those we’ve lost.
And in doing so, we will find the strength to move forward, knowing that every beat, every step, and every moment is a tribute to the resilience of the human spirit.
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