Reflecting on the Nova Music Festival Exhibition, Five Months Later

It took five months to share this because it was easier to not revisit it.

Dedicated to the Nova Music Festival attack in southern Israel on October 7, the exhibit’s full name is “Nova: Oct 7 6:29AM- The Moment Music Stood Still”.

I visited it when it was in NYC, in May. Tomorrow it leaves Los Angeles and heads to Miami. It took five months for me to share this reflection for a few reasons, but mostly because it was simply easier not to.

My intention with this essay is to share the experience with those who could not attend, for whatever reason. Most of my friends and family feared it would be too emotionally challenging. Personally, I have a form of survivor’s guilt as I’ve previously described my experience visiting Israel until one day prior to the attacks¹. Sharing this reflection feels like a small act of solidarity, a forced confrontation, a bearing of witness. While I wouldn’t have been physically at the festival or in the other attacked areas, I would have been “in it” in a broader sense as the country navigated those early weeks of national trauma that’s still active today. 

I structured this essay into chapters to replicate the visitor journey, from the entryway to the gift shop. The conclusion summarizes my overall impression, five months later, about witnessing generational trauma in real time.

A brief disclaimer: to quote Israeli artist Zoya Cherkassky-Nnadi, “Just because I have compassion for people in the kibbutz doesn’t mean I don’t have compassion for people in Gaza.²” I believe every life is an entire world and have written about this³. I also believe this has no bearing on the truth of what took place at this music festival to the 3,500 people who attended, including the 364 who were killed and the 44 who were abducted. 

I. Deciding to Visit & Walking Inside

I hesitated to attend the exhibition when first hearing about it, as I feared it would be too intense and disturbing. I’m also generally skeptical of “immersive experiences” that seem custom-built for Instagram. There was also a distaste for the commercialization of trauma which reminded me of how CNN and other mainstream news channels covered the early days of the attacks, even prior to Israel’s declaration of war. 

Yet when I learned the exhibition was produced by the surviving festival producers -- and sales went to a nonprofit supporting survivors⁴ -- I bought a ticket. 

I went alone, as I prefer to experience most exhibits with the freedom to process things at my own pace without external influence. As I passed the New York Stock Exchange, coffee in hand, I mentally prepared for a tough time. Arriving at 35 Wall Street, I took a deep breath.

For the next three hours I experienced what can’t really be explained, only felt. I’ll try anyway.  

Upon entering, I waited in a dark entryway with a few other guests. We were shown into a small room with a large screen playing a short video, setting the stage for what the festival ought to have been. A montage of survivors explained the vibe and mindset leading up to the evening of October 6th. This was absolutely critical to the overall experience, and understanding what took place. People from all over the world described their “community” as one centered around common values: unity, peace, creative expression, connection, acceptance, hope, light. A deep love of music and people.

I also learned of the significance of sunrise at a music festival - as a moment of collective reverence, as everyone turns toward the light in awe of the natural world, together. 

II. The Environment

As the welcome video ended and we were ushered into the next room, you felt a palpable shift of energy. A sinking wave of sadness and fear washed over me as I stepped through the doorway and into a large, dark room full of tents and camping gear with the dim glow of cell phones and wall displays scattered throughout. 

Small trees, bushes and dirt recreated the atmosphere of a music festival campsite, fully immersing the visitor in the experience.

Wandering between tents, I recognized paraphernalia from everyday life in Israel which felt like a hard punch in the stomach. Water bottles and cigarettes with familiar packaging were strewn across festival gear, sleeping bags, folding chairs, colorful blankets, face stickers, and body glitter. 

The reconstructed environment conveyed the vulnerability of the victims as unsuspecting partygoers. Not only were they not wearing protection, they didn’t have access to safe rooms like those attacked in the villages. 

Smaller rooms focused on particular aspects of the massacre: rescue missions led by first responders (ZAKA) tasked with identifying bodies; everyday citizens -- Jews, Bedouins, Arabs and Druze alike -- who performed heroic acts by driving toward danger to save lives, while risking their own in the process.

III. The Media

The media was difficult to watch but thankfully spared viewers from the most graphic violence. (I can’t handle violent, gory scenes in feature films, let alone real life; I only saw Kill Bill for the first time this year!) I do not think the exhibit included the most graphic Hamas body cam footage from the 47min video which circulated early in the war. 

Looped videos played on screens scattered throughout the exhibit: videos people took of themselves for documentation while hiding in bushes, behind cars, deciding with friends whether it was worth running and getting shot versus staying in place and getting shot. There were scrolling screenshots of panicked texts to loved ones, recordings of frantic phone calls, and videos of people running in fields.

Two pieces of media stand out the most in my memory. One I had seen before, and one was new:

1. The video clip of Naama Levy in her bloody gray sweatpants, dragged by her hair from the back of a jeep, barefoot, hands tied, ankles cut. I think this image is forever seared in the collective memory of the Jewish community and somehow it hurts more each time I see it. Naama is still in Gaza at the time of writing.

2. An audio recording of a phone call between a girl at the festival and her mom. An English translation appears on screen as you hear an older woman speak Hebrew. Only one voice is heard; the mother telling her daughter she isn’t alone. She calls her daughter “my sweet girl” over and over -- but no response is heard. The mom repeats, “You aren’t alone, I love you. You aren’t alone.” This was the hardest moment for me throughout the entire exhibit.

IV. The Cars & The Center of Gravity

First you pass a collection of scorched cars flown from Israel for the exhibition. Burnt to a crisp, lit from the inside, all that’s left were metal skeletons and empty cavities of wires, dirt, debris, and death. A row of orange porta potties with bullet holes in the doors, and large coolers of Coca Cola sat nearby, which were both hiding places for survivors and victims.

Electronic music played from the back of the main room, which you hear throughout but gets louder as you progress toward the center of the exhibit, drawing you toward an inner circle of vertical screens hanging from the ceiling a few feet in front of a stage.

Projected onto these screens were looped videos of beautiful people dancing and smiling. I don’t know if the stage was reconstructed or flown in but my body grew heavy as I approached it and saw the mountain of sound equipment on either side. 

There were memorials for producers, DJ’s, and other event organizers, including Matan Lior, a sound engineer who was killed trying to save others. This made me think about the sound engineers and DJ’s I know, and how bizarre it would be to place them in this context.

In the center of the floating screens sat a round sculpture installation in a circle of shallow water. It contained a message about creativity and light, and offered a bright spot of ease and calm in the midst of the darkness and despair.

V. An Eerily Familiar Lost & Found 

Generational trauma was triggered most saliently at this point. After the stage, you pass the “Lost and Found” made of three large black plastic tables. A display of shoes belonging to those killed in a mass murder instantly triggers images of the Holocaust. 

Visitors around me had the same reaction, weeping visibly. A silent, shared connection among Jews: we’d all seen this image before. The difference was in style only; instead of clunky WWII-era footwear, loafers and low heels, you saw Nike sneakers, strappy sandals and sequined platform boots. One table was all backpacks and personal items. I saw a makeup bag with birth control pills and lip gloss and was again hit by the contrast between the expectations versus the ultimate reality of the people at this festival.

VI. Exit Through the Giftshop

Finally we passed a memorial room with candles under photos of those killed at the festival. Visitors were invited to leave notes and messages throughout the exhibit. Leaving this room, you pass a large billboard showing those still in Gaza, with the words BRING THEM HOME. I noticed Shani Louk’s photo, whose body had been returned to Israel a few days earlier, reflecting how dynamic and active the situation is, in real time.  

Gutted, I drifted toward the gift shop where the mood suddenly shifted from despair to hope. A neon sign with the words “WE WILL DANCE AGAIN” hung glowing above a large, bohemian-style space with area rugs, floor cushions, and low tables. There was information about the Tribe of Nova Foundation, a nonprofit formed on Dec. 18, 2023 to provide emotional, medical, financial and legal support to the survivors and their families, including a 20-year lease on a community wellness center, assistance with grants, and advocacy to combat antisemitism.

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Witnessing Generational Trauma In Real Time

The most striking part was the contrast between what should have been a celebration of peace and love and the dark stain on humanity that took place instead. The intro video welcomed the viewer into the hopeful energy leading up to sunrise, moments before darkness descended. This contrast is hard to comprehend, yet deeply felt. The sound of electronic music against the background of burned cars and abandoned tents produced a surreal, heartbreaking effect.

It took months to process what I saw, but my initial reaction was immediate: I wished people were required to visit this exhibit before participating in the protests a few blocks away.

Experiencing this exhibit brought back the shock I felt on October 7th, when my body felt the news before my brain did. I learned of the attacks that morning in WhatsApp messages from friends I had hugged just one day earlier, and only later on TV, watching Netanyahu declare war. I felt the impact on the next three generations of Jews around the world: I knew it was our version of the Holocaust. 

This exhibit reinforced this belief.

It left an imprint on my sensory body that I recognized from a visit to Yad Vashem in Jerusalem nearly 20 years ago. Walking through the children’s memorial - a dark, candlelit passage with mirrors and music creating an atmosphere of indescribable pain and beauty - brought a multi-sensory wave of knowledge washed that can’t be transmitted from a book or a film. 

Immersive experiences like these are vital for transmitting trauma that defies comprehension. The impact on our collective and individual consciousness as a Jewish community is profound -- a topic for another essay. 

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To learn more, visit the Nova Music Festival Exhibition website.

1. ”Art as a Beacon to Navigate Chaos” (Nov 7, 2023)

2. “The Artist Whose Oct. 7 Series ‘Attracts Fire’”. (NYTimes. Feb 18, 2024)

3. “Necessary, Urgent, Merciful, Scattered” (Aug 24, 2024)

4. The Tribe of Nova Foundation