Nearly a year and a half after Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack, which killed over 2,000 Israelis in their surprise ambush, Florida State University students gathered. On a quiet Tuesday night, students listened solemnly as survivor Gal Cohen-Solal shared his story.
Gal was a resident of Kibbutz Re’im, one of the communities hardest hit by Hamas during the massacre that occurred alongside the Nova Music Festival. His account, emotional and unfiltered, described that exact morning when terrorists stormed his neighborhood, breaking through the gate and killing anyone they found.
He told us how he and his wife huddled in a safe room with their three children for over 30 hours, without food, light or certainty they’d survive. At one point, Gal even told us he had to hold his youngest son’s mouth shut to keep him quiet, to the point where he nearly lost consciousness, out of fear that just a small cry could alert the attackers to their presence.
He showed us photos of the aftermath, his door riddled with bullet holes, neighbors’ homes burned to the ground, the quiet beauty of their kibbutz reduced to a war zone. It was a moment of incredible vulnerability that gave those in the room a firsthand glimpse into the terror experienced by so many Israelis on that day.
But Gal’s visit to FSU wasn’t just about recounting events as many expected. It was about memory, responsibility and the role that young people, especially as students, must play in preserving truth. Many students on our campus, like so many others across the country, are still trying to fully grasp what exactly happened on Oct. 7. Social media can distort timelines and misinformation spreads quickly. With attention spans shorter than ever, stories, especially painful ones, fade from public consciousness much faster than they should. That’s why events like this matter.
Gal’s personal story speaks to a much larger message: if we don’t preserve the truth, someone else will rewrite it. History has shown time and again how dangerous that can be. While we may be over 6,000 miles from the events that unfolded in Israel that day, the impact of Oct. 7 doesn’t stop at national borders.
In the days and weeks after the attack, we witnessed an unprecedented surge in antisemitism around the world, especially on college campuses here in the U.S. We are so fortunate here at FSU to have a diverse and largely respectful community.
But like any other campus around our country, we are not immune to the influence of misinformation or political polarization. That’s why hearing directly from someone like Gal is so powerful. It’s not just news headlines or viral tweets — it’s a father, a husband, a survivor. It’s someone whose life was permanently changed, standing in front of us and asking that we listen, understand and remember.
What struck me most about Gal was his deep sense of responsibility. He speaks because the people who died — his neighbors, his friend, his nephew — cannot. Survivor’s guilt is a heavy burden, but silence, he believes, is more dangerous.
That message stayed with me long after the event ended. It made me realize that responsibility isn’t just on survivors, it’s on us too. As the students of FSU, we must recognize that we are the next generation of leaders, educators, journalists and citizens.
Whether or not we have personal ties to the events of Oct. 7, we have a responsibility to preserve memory, seek truth, challenge misinformation, and create space for voices like Gal’s to be heard. Holocaust survivors once carried this burden.
Now, with few of them left, the role of bearing witness is falling to new survivors of modern atrocities. As time goes on, the world will need people willing to listen and to speak. That’s why I encourage students to go beyond simply attending events. Engage with what you’ve heard, discuss it, ask questions and seek out more information. Follow the work of organizations like CAMERA on Campus and Faces of Oct. 7, who made this event possible and are dedicated to ensuring survivor voices are heard, preserved and amplified.
Gal didn’t come to FSU just to share what happened to him. He came because he hoped that by telling his story, we would tell it too. Because one day, there will be no more survivors left to speak. When that day comes, who will speak for them?
This article was originally published in FSUNews.
