When Natan Kenig arrived at the massacre sites on the afternoon of Simchat Torah, he thought he knew what horror looked like.
Volunteering for thirty years with ZAKA, he had responded to terror attacks, devastating accidents, and tragic deaths. He had seen the worst humanity could do. Or so he believed.
"I arrived at the scene and about an hour and a half from home I felt like I was in another world. Some kind of apocalypse," Kenig recalls from his recent appearance on Arutz Sheva. Initially, the scenes on Route 232 seemed like a large-scale shooting incident. "I drove on roads and could see dozens of casualties." But as he moved to the Nova festival site and the communities, he realized this was "a horror we had never known."
Help Natan Rebuild After October 7 - Donate Now
The true depth of evil revealed itself gradually, methodically, horrifically.
On Route 232, a brother was shot dead while his wounded sibling fled. Weeks later, the family returned to find their vehicle burned to ashes. "What did they actually do? They didn't just come to kill us, they came to annihilate. They burned everything to the ground so as not to leave a trace."
Two years have passed since October 7. The headlines have moved on. The cameras have left. But Natan's battle has only intensified. Every day creditors call. Every night the memories return. Every week another supplier asks: "When will I be paid?"
The clock is ticking. The debts are growing. The trauma is deepening.
Yet on that terrible day, nothing prepared Kenig for what he witnessed inside the homes of the Gaza envelope communities.
"When we entered the communities and saw the evil before our eyes, I said for the first time that I saw 'bodies crying.' The fallen literally 'screamed at us with their hands.' When you enter a house and five family members are scattered, each in a different room, and there is abuse of the bodies... it's incomprehensible. I was at the worst terror attacks and never saw anything like this."
The images never left him.
"I am an 'invisible wounded' and am being treated mentally in all kinds of ways," Kenig states plainly. "I feel broken in every way. The terrorists took away my joy of life."
Before October 7, Kenig lived two lives of service. By day, a ZAKA volunteer running toward scenes others fled from. By night, an event producer creating joy at weddings, bar mitzvahs, and celebrations across the country. His boutique catering business and event production company thrived for years, built on his passion for bringing people together in moments of happiness.
The massacre destroyed that second life completely.
"I used to be an event producer. I'm invited to events every week and I can't go. Even if it's my friends," he confesses. The man who once orchestrated celebrations, who filled rooms with laughter and dancing, now cannot bear to step into those same spaces. Every wedding reminds him of the families torn apart. Every celebration echoes with the screams he heard in those homes.
His business collapsed within months. The kitchen where he once prepared feasts became a prison of memories. Suppliers who had trusted him for years now wait for payment. Employees who worked alongside him face their own struggles. Hundreds of thousands of shekels in debt tower over him.
But Kenig refuses to declare bankruptcy.
The Deadline Is Approaching - Act Now Before It's Too Late
"Those people stood by me for years," he explains quietly. "I can't abandon them - just like I didn't abandon the victims on October 7."
Despite severe post-traumatic stress and ongoing mental health treatment, despite feeling "broken in every way," Kenig holds fast to his principles. He will not walk away from his obligations. He will not leave suppliers unpaid. He will not build his future on broken promises from his past.
"I'm not asking for pity," he says firmly. "I'm asking for life. I want to wake up with a purpose, to earn an honest living again."
Yet he does not regret a single moment of his work on October 7.
"I don't look at the price but at the result. The only thing that makes me happy in this whole story is that there is not one person missing to the State of Israel from October 7. I can attribute this to the credit of ZAKA forces who worked there in the first weeks around the clock, under fire and literally risking their lives, so that there would be no missing persons."
This is the math Kenig lives with: complete personal destruction in exchange for ensuring every family could bury their loved ones with dignity. No missing persons. No families left wondering. Just one man left shattered, holding debts he refuses to abandon and memories he cannot escape.
ZAKA leadership confirms Kenig represents hundreds of volunteers now struggling in silence after October 7. "These men and women carried our dead with dignity," a senior official noted. "Now they need us to carry them."
Today, Kenig finds purpose in bearing witness. "Every time someone approaches me, anywhere, I simply come and explain to people what they did to us. It's very important to me that they know and understand that something like this can never happen again."
He speaks to audiences worldwide, carrying the weight of those "crying bodies" and "screaming hands" so the world will not forget. But speaking does not pay debts. Testimony does not restore a livelihood. Bearing witness does not heal the invisible wound.
The question facing us is simple: Will we let a hero fall?
Natan Kenig spent thirty years running toward danger. He entered homes where evil left its mark. He saw "bodies crying" and refused to look away. He worked under fire to ensure no family was left without closure.
Now he asks only for the chance to honor his commitments and rebuild with dignity.
UPDATE: As of this week, Natan's situation has become critical.
Several major creditors have indicated they can no longer wait. Legal proceedings are being discussed. The window to help him honor his commitments with dignity is closing rapidly.
This is not theoretical. This is happening now.
This is where you come in.
When suppliers who trusted Kenig wait for payment, they're not just waiting for money - they're watching to see if a man of honor will be abandoned by those he served. When his debts pile up while he undergoes mental health treatment, we face a choice: Do we value his sacrifice or do we let him drown in the aftermath?
Give Natan What He Gave to Israel - Everything
This is not charity. This is a debt we owe.
Every donation does three things:
1. Pays real people waiting for real money.
2. Restores dignity to a man who never abandoned anyone.
3. Tells every ZAKA volunteer: "We will not forget you."
Here is exactly what your donation accomplishes:
$100: Pays one waiting supplier - prevents one legal action
$250: Clears overdue invoices before they go to collections
$500: Settles major creditor threatening legal action
$1,000: Prevents court proceedings AND funds therapy sessions
$2,500: Clears multiple threatening debts + seeds new beginning
$5,000+: Eliminates entire debt category (suppliers OR employees)
Every hour that passes, the situation becomes more desperate.
The "invisible wounded" suffer in silence. Their injuries do not show in photographs. Their pain does not make headlines. But their sacrifice is real, their struggle is desperate, and their need is urgent.
Natan Kenig saw bodies crying. Now he needs us to hear him.
Click the link. Choose your amount. Change a hero's life.
DONATE NOW - Before The Deadline Passes
Every donation goes directly to clearing debts and helping Natan rebuild.
Zero administrative fees. Zero delays.
One hundred percent immediate impact for a man who gave Israel everything and now asks only for the chance to keep his promises.
The man who ensured no family was left without closure now faces an impossible burden alone.
Don't let him carry it by himself.
P.S. - If you donated before and are reading this again: Thank you.
Your previous support helped, but the battle isn't over.
The debts are still there. The creditors are still waiting. Natan is still fighting.
Please consider giving again - even $50 makes a difference when the deadline is this close.