I watch rescue teams in admiration as they work tirelessly to save lives. My walkie-talkie never leaves my side—not during Shabbat meals, family celebrations, or even in the shower. I volunteer with United Hatzalah in the Kiryat Gat branch, where we’ve become a tightly-knit community that crosses sectors and reflects the entire Israeli society: young and old, ultra-Orthodox, secular, and religious. We’re united by shared values of saving lives.

We have a volunteer station in the city, which feels like a second home for us. During shifts on motorcycles or ambulances, we gather in the station’s garden between calls, sharing experiences, learning from one another, and honing our skills case by case.

One day, at the Plugot Junction, I saw a car hit a young pedestrian with such force that she was thrown into the air and across four lanes of traffic, landing near me. She was critically injured, with burns on her face from the scorching asphalt and injuries across her body. I rushed to her side and began administering first aid, stopping her bleeding, providing oxygen, and stabilizing her until additional responders and an intensive care ambulance arrived to take her to the hospital.

My life shifted when a rocket fell near my neighborhood in Kiryat Gat during one of the sirens. The rocket struck a building directly, and I treated an 80-year-old man who was injured. I transported him to Barzilai Medical Center in Ashkelon with two other medics who joined me. On the way back from the hospital, the dispatcher sent me to Zikim Junction, where reports of injured people were coming in, though the cause was still unclear.

Arriving at Zikim, we waited a few minutes until a car from Netiv HaAsara—a village bordering Gaza—arrived with two gunshot victims. One was an older man in critical condition with five gunshot wounds. He shared, through his pain, that he no longer wanted to live because his wife and daughter-in-law had been murdered when terrorists infiltrated his community. We transported them to the hospital in critical condition.

From there, we proceeded to the police station in Ofakim, where dozens of injured people had gathered after being rescued by the army from the Nova music festival. The scenes were harrowing. We evacuated victims in multiple rounds, six at a time in the ambulance, some critically injured. Each time, we pieced together more fragments of information from survivors—stories of loved ones lost, spouses or close friends gone forever. Slowly, we began to comprehend the horrific scale of the event unfolding around us.

Meanwhile, my wife and children were celebrating the holiday alone at home, unaware of what was happening outside and unsure when—or if—I would return. (In hindsight, if my wife had known what I was heading into, she never would have let me leave the house. But heaven had other plans.)

From there, we moved on to Kibbutz Nahal Oz. By this point, terrorists were still roaming the Gaza border villages. Bullets whistled overhead as we maneuvered through fields of young and old victims, men and women alike, all murdered. We spent 12 hours treating and evacuating victims without a moment’s rest. Only after that did we pause to drink water and recover slightly. Adrenaline had carried us through the day, and we hadn’t stopped to eat or drink the entire time.

I called my wife to tell her where I was and everything I had been through since the morning. At that moment, I realized I had reached my limit—I couldn’t take it anymore. I returned home, breaking down in my wife’s arms after everything I had seen and experienced that day. Luckily, my children were already asleep.

Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers) teaches that the world stands on three pillars: Torah, service, and acts of kindness. I try to make sure that not a day passes without performing an act of kindness for someone. That is the anchor that keeps me grounded, even in the most challenging of days.