Part 5. October 7, 2023: The Day that Drove My Jewish Faith Home
- Kimberly Davis
- May 1, 2025
- 11 min read
Updated: 9 hours ago
My Long Journey Home to Judaism: Part 5
October 7, 2023: The Day That Drove My Jewish Faith Home
In the wee hours of October 7th, I awoke to the sounds of birds and bombs.
The High Holy Day of Sukkot had just concluded and Simchat Torah had begun. The atmosphere in Camp David was calm and peaceful, which was then abruptly disrupted by bomb sirens and explosions of white smoke as David’s Sling intercepted Hamas bombs overhead.
The stark disparity between birds and bombs. It's jarring. Yet, the true disparity is not anything that can properly be put into words. At first, it was as if my mind and body could not sense the danger. My 8th sense was calm as I sat reading Lamentations from the back of my Siddur as the sun rose.
Boom!
Startled, my body jumped. The coffee stains, which fell from the coffee mug that I held in my jerking hand, stand to this day as a marker of that morning.
It's ironic, isn't it?
On what is usually the most joyous day of the Jewish year, I was reading Lamentations. Why? Well, in the earthly sense, my Siddur was the only form of hard-copy text I had in my possession (I had decided to use a digital bible on my trip for most of my routine daily readings). I had finished Ruth. So, Lamentations was next. In the heavenly realms, it turns out, Lamentations is fitting for all that transpired that day.
In an instant, I was shaken into reality. In an instant, I knew the threats had become a reality.
You see, prior to coming to Israel, certain threats were made about kidnapping, rape, and war (using Holy scripture, mind you). Assuming these were simply the norm of scare tactics meant to scare me out of going to Israel, I paid them no mind. However, within two days of landing in Israel, I had several people (women, mind you) tell me to “prepare for war.” One was talking about a war of my faith, the other was a bit more sinister in her warnings.
Throughout my trip, it became clear that the treats were valid. That the US churches had indeed sent stalkers to follow me around Israel. I reported everything to any IDF personnel who would listen. No one seemed to pay any of it any mind.
Whether these groups were actually part of the attack on Israel, I cannot say. But (as if one with the nation), as she suffered publicly, I was similarly suffering in silence. Sadly, the longer I traveled, the more ominous the abnormal signs and events became.
The day filled with uncontrollable tears, which I discussed in Part 4, occurred about a week or so prior to October 7th. It was as if my soul knew what was coming. The morning of October 7 made clear exactly why I had a sense of such impending doom.
At that time of the uncontrollable crying, I was staying in Tiberius for a few days, but at the start of Sukkot I traveled back to Jerusalem to stay at Camp David. The Camp was a relatively small enclosed plot of land, set up for outdoor camping and building Sukkas in accordance with Torah. What I did not know when making a reservation to stay there was that this camp is in Palistian-dominated territory.
The atmosphere was very peaceful until the day it wasn’t.
Just prior to the atmosphere shift, a pastor of a messianic congregation just happened to show up at the bus stop I was at. There was heavy traffic on the roads because of the Jewish High Holidays. I decided to get off of the bus I was on and stop in The Shuk to pick up some food. After making my purchases and perusing the streets for a while, I went back to the bus stop and waited for the bus that would get me back to Camp David.
As I was standing there, the well known pastor showed up. I knew him from several series I had watched back in the US, but it was clear he knew my work as well.
You see, I had created a website for a self-run ministry of messianic teachings, namely for the purpose of applying for jobs. I had told no one about the website except for the jobs for which I was applying. The business where I applied, in turn, distributed my work and website to world-wide organizations, churches, and messianic congregations without my permission.
This fueled (yet again) the unauthorized and uncredited use of my work, this time in messianic ministries (such as this pastor's)--just as had been done in the Reformed churches after I applied to one of their job offerings.
Again, use of my work is not the issue. It is the theft of work that is the issue, which is explicitly against Torah.
Anyway, on the bus, the pastor and I stood close in proximity. So, I (being cordial) asked about his ministry. After talking for a sort while, he made it clear that he had connections to the messianic pastor whom I sat under back in the US. Evidently they are "best buds". My heart sunk in fear. To make matters worse, I had just told the pastor where I was staying for Sukkot.
Then, as if things could not get worse, after a few stops, a young man got on the bus. The pastor and the young man began chatting, and for no apparent reason I was utterly chilled to the core when I overheard the comment, "Thanks for the matzor." In the moment, I had no idea what that meant, but again my 8th sense knew. The conversation in my head went something like:
"Matzor. That sounds like matzah. Matzot? Plural. It's not Passover. What? Matzot. No, that's not what he said."
When I got back to my tent, did a Google search, and suddenly I knew why I was so immediately frightened. If you are unfamiliar with Hebrew, matzor means "kill-shot, manhunt, kill."
In this moment, a rush of ominous darkness fell upon my soul. I sensed that something bad was going to happen. And soon. It was palpable.
I keep talking about these senses I get. I know. It is weird and perhaps makes me sound crazy.
But, my entire life I have had what I call an 8th sense. Somehow, someway, without knowing why, or how my soul has the uncanny ability to know things it otherwise shouldn't know. It is like my innate warning system. This sense is correct nearly 99.9% of the time.
It is a sense and an uncanny ability that I wish I didn't have most days. But, for better or worse, have this 8th sense, I do.
I got off a stop early and walked the longer distance back to the camp site in case someone would try to follow me "home." That evening, a flood of Arab-speaking people came to stay in the camp. The peaceful atmosphere of Jewish song and praise for Sukkot was abruptly disrupted by noise played through the night and well into the early hours of the morning.
The noise was music, but not. One might compare it to rave or house music, but worse. Much worse. The best way to describe the noise is incongruous sounds put to a rhythm--The type of sounds that could send an epileptic into seizure.
Pork began being roasted on the camp fires, defiling the once Kosher kitchen space. In the air, defilement of a spiritual kind was palpable.
The next day, as I was charging my phone, a mass of what seemed to be 100 black birds congregated in the skies just off the horizon. This mass was too organized. I was (and am to this day) convinced it had to be drones, or perhaps, (now knowing the facts of the day) it was a test run of the flying parachute machines used by Hamas to gain entry into Israel. I told anyone who would listen. No one paid any mind.
Several times, an unmanned white horse came galloping to the gates of the camp. (I, unfortunately, did not get a picture). There were also several porcupines that suddenly showed up in the camp that were creeping around young children! None got hurt, praise Hashem. It was all just. so. odd. Not right. Not right at all. On the phone, I told my mother about the atmosphere shift--The 8th sense I had. Of course she could not do anything, nor could I for that matter.
Then, the day of Birds and bombs.
In the camp, there were several bomb shelters. I was up early reading my Siddur as the sun rose. When the bomb sirens went off, I didn't know what was going on or what to do. A young man, who I had met at a hostel in Tiberias, "Just happened" to come to Camp David for Sukkot as well. When he woke up and crawled out of his tent, he saw I was awake and came over to where I was reading. We both looked up as a pop of white smoke exploded in the air: David's Sling had caught another Hamas Bomb.
We both just asked, "What is going on?!"
I had no clue because I do not have social media, and I do not check the news, especially not first thing in the morning. It was not until some of the older people arose that information was starting to come in about the attacks in the Kibbutzim across Israel. Once we knew what was going on, when the bomb sirens would go off, we were ushered into the shelters. Often there was not room enough for all of us to fit. The hallway, however, seemed safe enough.
As the morning wore into afternoon, the messianic congregation that was staying in Camp David was adamant that we all come to their large group tent. They held a service. We sang songs. Then they paused for an "intermission." During that intermission, we all had to provide our names for a list and then were told we were not allowed to leave their group (whether or not we had been with their group the entire week or not). After the intermission, we were then corralled into another large tent (like sheep being led to slaughter) on the grounds, and where told we were not allowed to leave there either.
I had not yet called my mother to let her know I was ok. Heck, I had not even turned on my phone yet due to the holidays. I told the leader that I needed to go call my mother, but he would not let me leave. I waited a half hour and asked if I could use the rest room, thinking I could make my escape then. He said ok. I went to the washroom and stayed in there for a few minutes. Then stuck my head out of the door to see if anyone was around. Nope. So I scurried up the path back towards the direction of my tent. As I was scurrying, the leader said, "Kim! Stop! You have to come back!"
My name had never sounded so horrific to my own ears.
I stopped dead in my tracks. Held back the tears that wanted to come streaming down my face. I bit my upper lip. And turned around. This was bad. Very bad. But, sheepishly, I walked back to the group tent.
I sat in the hot, unventilated tent for Heaven knows how long. I tried several more times to just get up and go. But was thwarted every time. It was hard to flee. But, then, I had enough. I asked to leave. The leader said no. Boldly I asked, "I am not a hostage here, am I?!" With no reply, I defiantly pushed my way through the guards at the door. Then I quickly made my way back to my tent and locked my tiny neon green luggage lock around the zippers in an attempt to "lock my door" (as if that would stop any unwanted entry).
I called my mother. I took a shower. And then looked for a place to stay indoors.
After much effort, I found a hostel who had a bed open for the night.
It was late, maybe around 8:00 pm, when the official directors of Camp David told us we had to leave. We "could not stay another night," they said. For, they "had to get to the front lines to defend Israel" (may Hashem give them strength even now!)
There was a bus that was to take everyone out of the camp and drive us around to our hotels around Jerusalem, but no one in the messianic group would give me information on where to meet.
I knew something was not right.
I quickly shoved everything in my bag, took down my tent, cleaned my camp site, and fled. I face-planted on the steep gravel-filled hill as I was trying get off of the camp grounds. My lungs felt like they would collapse from the illness that befell the camp the night the atmosphere changed. My heart, which had miraculously healed upon stepping my feet in the Holy Land, started to go into arrhythmia again. The only thing I could say to myself was,
“Kimberly, you are NOT dying here tonight!”
A nice man helped me get to my feet and helped me carry my bag up the hill. Then, I went to the bus stop and waited. Hardly any cars were on the road. No buses would stop. For about an hour I sat, like a sitting duck in the open Palestinian-dominated territory with the sound of bombs exploding in the distance and visions of kidnapped women running through my mind.
Suddenly, an incident from earlier in my trip came to mind. I had been at the Tower of David, (more like just outside the walls), taking pictures. I was taking a video of this history tower that stands outside the walls when suddenly an Arabic-speaking man came up uncomfortably close behind me. He grabbed my arm, and made it clear that he knew me (somehow). I pulled my arm away from him, but stayed calm. There was a set of stairs nearby. A lookout point. I slowly walked there as we tried to talk. High-ground. I thought, if anything happened, maybe someone will see.
He started asking me questions. I could not understand him and the Arabic he spoke. I pulled out my phone and pulled up a translator app. The questions he was asking were too personal for comfort. How did he know the details of my life?! How was he able to ask these things?! I had no idea. But, I remained calm and answered him as honestly as I could without revealing any further details about myself. Then he asked me to go with him. He did not say where. I said, "No. I'd rather go sightseeing by myself, thank you."
After several more polite "no's," I gave a more defiant one and walked off in the opposite direction to where I was trying to go. After ducking and dodging, I lost sight of the man and thought it was safe to go the way I was trying to walk. As I walked, I noticed the man in the distance on the left hand side of the road. There was small paved lot. A blacked out van was waiting with a driver standing outside of the driver-side door. The man who had approached me shook his head to the other man. My heart sank. I just kept on walking.
Alone, in the dark at that bus stop. I admit, I was starting to feel anxious. Finally, a bus showed up. The driver was Arabic. He swerved and jerked the bus all over the road. After very chaotic driving and nearly being knocked off my feet, I made it to the Tower of David bus stop. I knew that part of town, so I got off the bus early and hoofed my way to the hostel at which I had reservations for the night.
After about a week of other trying events, I got a flight out of Israel and made my way back to the USA.
Standing on the shores of the US, I was shaken to the core. I held it together long enough to give my mother a proper hello. But at home, I fell apart.
It took a while to comprehend all that had transpired. To this day, there is still a lot that I have not fully processed even after going through all the stages of grief and mourning: depression, denial, anger, bargaining with Hashem, and then eventual peace.
In the processing, however, Hashem has been the greatest teacher. Since being home, I have followed the old Jewish grandmother’s advice to “just read” my Tanakh. Day after day, month after month, year after (almost another) year, I am growing stronger and more grounded in the Jewish faith.
Looking back, the test of war was fitting and made perfect sense as far as the timing in my own journey. Just like the Israelites, whom Hashem took the long road round to the Promised Land, so too Hashem has taken me the long way round so that, when I saw war I would not go running back to Egypt and false gods.
Too, being so shaken, it seems, is was exactly what I needed to drive my Jewish faith home. It was as if Hashem took me the shoulders, looked me square in the heart, and said, “Choose this day whom you will serve!”
I proudly choose Hashem, the Jewish faith, and Torah.
Am Yisrael Chai!
by Kimberly Davis
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