Three years after the October 7 massacre, United Hatzalah paramedics Giti Beer and Liad Ohana look back on the moments when they headed into the hell of the Gaza region, treated wounded victims under fire and witnessed the full scale of the massacre.
In an interview with Channel 14, Beer recalled struggling to comprehend the scale of the attack that morning. Her daughter woke her and told her that terrorists were in Sderot. Shortly afterward, calls began coming in from Ichud Hatzalah (United Hatzalah). Her son-in-law, who is also a volunteer with the organization, told her they were heading south.
As they drove, Beer began to realize that this was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Red Alert sirens sounded repeatedly, smoke could be seen in different directions, and as they approached the Gaza border communities, they were confronted with horrific scenes.
“I thought I was in a movie. I really thought I was imagining it," she recalled. “We started seeing cars - just bodies everywhere."
At first, the medical teams stopped near casualties to determine who could still be treated, but in some cases there was no one left to save. Beer described moving from one incident to another, entering the combat zone, evacuating wounded victims and linking up with additional ambulances as gunfire and explosions continued around them.
Ohana, who was in Ofakim, gradually realized that the gunfire he was hearing was not related to the rocket barrages. Reports began coming in of terrorists inside the city and wounded people in need of medical treatment, but the fighting in the streets sometimes prevented volunteers from reaching them.
In one case, he and other volunteers tried to reach a wounded woman, but terrorists were positioned between them and where she was lying. Only after security forces managed to push the terrorists back could they reach her. By then, however, it was too late to save her.
Amid the horrific scenes, the two also remember the people whose lives they were able to save. Beer recalled one critically wounded man who waited for hours before he could be evacuated. She provided complex medical treatment and, after his condition was stabilized, he was airlifted to a hospital.
She later met him again.
“He’s alive, he’s here, and he’s with his children, his wife and his parents. It’s a feeling I can’t describe," she said.
Ohana recalled another wounded man, Victor, who was treated at his home in Ofakim. After realizing there was no way to wait for an organized evacuation, the decision was made to take him to the hospital in a private vehicle. It later emerged that he arrived at a critical moment and lost consciousness at the hospital.
During those hours, Ohana said there was no room to think about fear or the family he had left at home.
“I have a mission. I want to get there and treat people," he said.
At one point, Ohana briefly returned home to remove the baby seats from his car so he could continue evacuating the wounded. Before leaving again, he told his wife: “You don’t open the door to anyone. If it’s not me, you don’t open the door to anyone."
Even after the fighting ended, the events did not end for the volunteers. Ohana said he struggled to return home for some time because every drive through the area brought back memories of the places where he had seen terrorists, wounded victims and the dead. He also continues to grapple with thoughts about the people he was unable to reach in time.
Beer said United Hatzalah provided volunteers with psychological support and treatment, but she said the magnitude of what happened remains difficult to comprehend.
“I think it will take many, many years to process this," she concluded.