The Dance Floor

Today, individual memorial signs stand on the site of the original Nova Festival dance floor, where people danced on October 7, 2023. The signs commemorate those murdered and those who fell while attending the Nova, Mushroom, and Psyduck parties held that Saturday, as well as members of the Midburn production team. Each sign features a photograph and the life story of the person it commemorates, written in collaboration with the bereaved families.

The memorial was created by artist Amir Chodorov, the site’s initiator and director, together with Jojo Rabia and Yohai Rivlin, his partners in creating the memorial installations. The story of the Dance Floor is told here from Amir’s perspective.

My first visit to the Re’im parking lot was in early January 2024. The place that I saw at the time was desolate and exposed to the elements, and the silence was thunderous. Temporary posts stood on the ground, with pictures printed on hard cardboard, stained with mud and rendered askew by the strong wind. I stood in front of them and couldn’t leave. I looked at the beautiful young faces that looked at me, and at that moment the expression “the Valley of Killing” struck me with all its force.

I tried to imagine the moments of terror, the attempts to escape across the open area, and the desperate search for shelter, and the tears kept flowing. Out of the piercing pain I felt there, I made a decision from which there was no turning back: to get to know each and every one of them and tell the stories of who they were, so that they would never be forgotten and their smiles could serve as a moral compass for future generations.

A Legacy of Love for Israel – Ilan Moshe Yaakov

On the morning of October 7, 2023, when the sirens sounded in my home in Tel Aviv, I rushed to the home of my son, a senior IDF officer who had been rushed to the front. I hugged him, wished him luck, and asked him, from the depth of my heart, that he take care of himself.

At the time, I was fully immersed in an art project in the Hatikva neighborhood of Tel Aviv. Together with the staff of the Beit Dani Community Center, I was working on installing a huge display that spanned 1,200 square meters of the neighborhood’s walls, which told the story of its wonderful heritage. But the harsh reality shattered this quiet involvement in an instant. Guy Zuzut, the director of Beit Dani, called me and told me in a trembling voice that he had lost contact with Ilan, the director of the Beit Dani Neighborhood Youth Center, who had gone out to spend time at a festival in the south.

The next day, the devastating news came that Ilan had been murdered. I had known Ilan well. He was a man of strong values, deeply devoted to others and with a profound love for the Land of Israel. Faced with this painful loss, I immediately joined the team at Beit Dani in supporting his family during this difficult time.

During the shiva, I was shown a video that Ilan had filmed at the beginning of the rocket barrage, in which he said: “The State of Israel, I love you despite everything, despite all the missiles and sirens. There is nothing like the State of Israel. We will never give up. We will never give up our independence and our lives.” Even in those moments, he chose to express his deep love for his country, leaving behind a legacy of faith, resilience, and devotion. For me, Ilan opened a door into the world of those we had lost and gave me a glimpse into the depth of the loss we suffered that day.

The Dance Returns

A chance encounter at Beit Dani with Sigal Shemer, mother of the late Ron Shemer, shaped the way I chose to commemorate those we had lost that day. I wanted the focus to be on the lives they had lived – their personalities, their loves, their dreams, and the entire worlds they carried within them.

To better understand their lives, I watched thousands of videos. I saw family moments filled with joy, laughter, and love, alongside difficult footage documenting the events of that day. Every meeting with the families and every story shared with me was emotionally demanding, but each one also deepened my sense of responsibility and strengthened my commitment to continue.

I devoted days and nights to the work. One by one, I replaced the temporary posts and improvised cardboard photographs with durable, carefully designed double-sided signs. On one side was a photograph chosen by the family; on the other, a personal story written together with them. Every word carried pain and tears, but above all, a desire to illuminate the unique person behind each name and allow visitors to discover who they were.

In this way, the Dance Floor gradually came to life again. Visitors could encounter not only the faces and names on the signs, but also the lives and stories behind them. The stories of those murdered and those who fell brought back something of the joy, color, and vitality that had defined their lives, allowing them to be remembered for who they were.

A Spiritual Will

Every morning, when I arrive for another day of work at the site, I quietly walk among the memorial signs on the Dance Floor. I look at their faces and greet each and every one of them with a “good morning.” Having come to know their stories so deeply, they have become an inseparable part of me, accompanying me through every stage of the work – every concrete pour and every iron frame we erect.

In those moments, I am reminded once again of the responsibility I have taken upon myself: to ensure that they are never forgotten. As long as I have the strength, I will continue to tell their stories, commemorate the light they brought into the world, and preserve the deep connection I have formed with their families.