On the Seventh Day

On the morning of October 7, 2023, the world changed—abruptly, violently, and forever. I didn’t set out to document war that day. I woke to sirens and chaos, like so many others, unsure if what I was hearing was real. But the images came quickly. Not just through my lens, but through the stunned eyes of those around me. Survivors, soldiers, parents, children—each carried a story that demanded to be seen.

This book is not a gallery. It is a witness.

Each photograph you’ll see in these pages was taken in the aftermath of the Hamas-led massacre—at kibbutzim reduced to ashes, at the site of a music festival turned killing field, on roads littered with the echoes of what once was ordinary life. I walked among the ruins with trembling hands and a heavy heart. As a photographer, my job is to look, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

These images are raw. Some are difficult to look at. All of them are necessary.

I don’t present them as art, but as evidence. Evidence of humanity shattered, of lives taken and upended, of a nation wounded but not broken. But also: evidence of resilience, of communities that began, almost immediately, to pick up the pieces and resist being defined by tragedy alone.

I do not pretend to be neutral. I am an Israeli. I saw entire families broken apart. But I also saw extraordinary courage, dignity, and love in the most unthinkable moments. My camera became a way to hold onto truth—because memory fades, and silence, if left to grow, can distort.

Shlomi Amsalem · October 2025