Nine months after Hamas's brutal attack on the Supernova music festival, survivors and their families are waging a silent war against trauma, largely unsupported by the systems meant to protect them.
"I'm alone, just me and him," Roni Katz told a Knesset committee, describing her struggle to care for her 30-year-old son. "I can't leave him alone because I'm afraid something will happen to him." Katz's story highlights a cruel irony: while her son is recognized as a victim, she bears the financial and emotional burden of his care without official support.
The ripple effects of trauma extend beyond immediate survivors. Katz revealed she's left footing the bill for anxiety treatment for her daughter, who cared for her brother through his ordeal. "The immediate family of survivors are not recognized by National Insurance as victims," she explained, exposing a significant gap in the support system.
Ron Segev, another survivor, criticized the limited scope of care offered. "What the state is doing right now is sending us off to be disabled," he said, arguing for more comprehensive treatment. His words echo the frustration of many who feel abandoned by a system ill-equipped to handle the scale of their trauma.
Raz Perry, hospitalized for six months after the attack, painted a stark picture of isolation: "No one supported me except for my immediate family." His mother, like Katz, found herself in the role of caregiver, "feeding me with a spoon for six months, telling me, 'Raz, you will live.'"
While the Health Ministry has established a "national resilience center" and adapted psychiatric wards, these efforts seem insufficient in the face of overwhelming need. A recent study suggests 31% of those directly exposed to the attack will develop PTSD, a statistic that doesn't account for the secondary trauma experienced by families.
The true cost of terror extends far beyond the immediate victims, creating a generation of unseen sufferers desperately in need of support.
* The Times of Israel contributed to this article.
