🤍🕯️remembering October 7 2023🕯️🤍 Thinking of your pain 🤍wishing you strength and hope 🤍 #NeverForget #7October2023 🇮🇱🤍

Trees talk to each other. Underground fungal networks let them share sugar, send warnings about pests, and even feed their dying neighbors. The "wood wide web" has been running for 400 million years. We invented the internet 40 years ago. 🌳

October rain (🔉on)

‘SIMPLE MAN’ ~ LYNYRD SKYNYRD 1973

We will never forget Shiri Bibas and also her dog Tonto, who was also murdered on October 7th.

Great photos by our team of volunteers during elephant monitoring today. NANA and her son LOLO ❤️🐘🐘❤️

New baby rhino doing well and staying close to mum, deciding to take a nap. Still no idea if boy or girl but soon, So that we can find a name 🦏❤️

בי נשבעתי, כל יום תופיע כאן תמונה של משפחת סימן טוב קדם זכרם לברכה, הענף שנכרת בעץ המשפחתי שלי. תמרי קדם בת דודתי,ג'ון בעלה, ארבל שחר ועומריקו המלאכים. שהופקרו ונרצחו בניר עוז. עד שממשלת המוות, מממנת החמאס, היהירה, המפקירה, המנותקת, המזופתת, המושחתת והאנטי ציונית תצא מחיינו.

Hersh..

Wishing THE Hit Man the happiest of birthdays 👏 Show Tico some love in the comments 📷: Chérie Hansson

Meet Oz Davidian. On the morning of October 7, as the massacre at the Nova festival unfolded, Oz heard that young people were trapped and desperately needed help. He got into his pickup truck and drove toward the killing. Oz knew the fields and back roads from years of farming in the area. He found terrified people hiding and running for their lives, loaded as many as he could into his truck, and drove them to safety. Then he went back. And back again. Fifteen times, Oz drove into danger to search for strangers he could save. By the end of that day, he had rescued approximately 120 people. Later, Oz said he cried.. not for what he had done, but for the people he couldn’t save. Heroic only begins to describe the actions of this man.

Aline Kapshitter, a 7-year-old angel, and her mother were both murdered in cold blood by Hamas on October 7th. Their whole family was murdered with them. Remember them.

Three years ago today, an attempted genocide on the Jewish people took place. Rather than the world uniting with the Jews against a common enemy of humanity (Islamic terrorists), the West decided that Hamas (Gaza) was deserving of our full empathy and the Jews were the ones committing a "genocide." The inversion of reality is beyond what Orwell or Kafka could have imagined. The explosion of global Jew-hatred post October 7 highlights a very ugly reality: Scratch the surface and you quickly sink into the infinity pool of arguably the oldest hatred known to mankind.

RT @CAMD136: Please can I ask that you do me the honour, of reading the poignant words of a friend whose in-laws were murdered on October…

"The little robin in the quiet glen, Hidden from fame and all the strife of men, Sings unto Time a pastoral, and gives A music that lives on and ever lives." – from 'The Eternity of Nature' by John Clare (1793-1864). #poetry #autumn

Remember Shahar, Arbel, and Omer Siman Tov Murdered by Hamas alongside their parents, Johnny and Tamar, on Oct 7

Do your job @metpoliceuk

The police imposed a ban on face coverings at today's march. I've been here for an hour and have seen dozens of protesters with their faces covered and the police are doing nothing about it. What is the point of conditions you won't enforce? Do your job, @metpoliceuk.

There are no words that can truly capture how the world has changed for Jewish people since October 7th. And there is nothing I can say today that hasn't already been said, more powerfully, by others. So I'll just share one of the many moments from that day, and the days that followed, that I will never forget. On the morning of October 7th, I was in synagogue when the news began to reach us. My brother lives in Israel - and we knew he was in the Gaza Envelope in the south, celebrating the Jewish festival of Simchat Torah with friends from the area. But even as the news came in of what was happening there, it never crossed our minds that he might be in danger. A few hours later, when we had returned home from synagogue, still hearing rumours of what was happening, a phone rang in our home. We are religious Jews. On Shabbat and festivals, we don't use our phones. But my great-grandmother, Lily, a survivor of Auschwitz, was unwell, and the hospital had asked my mother to keep hers switched on. My brother knew that. He was calling under instruction from the community's rabbi. He told us that terrorists had surrounded the area. Only a handful of local residents were armed, standing between the community and dozens of heavily armed terrorists. No one knew what would happen next, or whether Hamas would manage to break in and murder them. He was, in essence, calling to say goodbye. My sister took the phone and told him she was pregnant. None of us knew. She told him then because we didn't know if we would ever get the chance to speak to him again. Then the call ended. And we carried on with Shabbat and Simchat Torah, not knowing what would happen where my brother was. Knowing that some of his friends, who had gone outside the gates to see what was happening, had been shot at. Some of them were murdered. We didn't hear from him again until the next day. I have never shared this before. Because our story ended with another phone call, the next day. So many families' stories ended so differently. You will struggle to find a single Jewish person who doesn't have a friend, a friend of a friend, or a family member who was affected that day. Three years on, I think about that phone call often. About what it means to call your family knowing that, on the road outside, there are terrorists trying to get into your community to murder, rape, pillage and destroy as much as they possibly can. And about what these three years have meant for Jewish people and Israelis everywhere. We will never forget. We could not, even if we tried. The trauma of that day runs too deep, through almost every Jewish family around the world.

London brings shame on this country today 🙏

Tsachi and Ma’ayan. My stomach is in knots. The sky is bloated grey and the clouds contract like sobs. We tell your story again and again. Grateful for the chance to keep you alive with one more sentence, one more word. To remind them of your life, and terrible death. Dear world, Tsachi and Ma’ayan Idan lived. And loved. And were loved. We will never let them forget.