A heavy silence cloaks the Bilmes family home in Rishon Lezion. Nearly two years have passed since the October 7 massacre, yet Leon and Ina still sit facing a wall covered with photos of their daughter, Sapir, of blessed memory. They now share, with searing pain, the most tragic story any parents can tell, about the final moments of their daughter’s life and their unending journey through grief.
Sapir’s decision to attend the Nova music festival was spontaneous. She went with Karin Vernikov, a friend she had met on her post-army trip. “That was Sapir,” her mother Ina says with a sad smile. “Always ready for adventure, always with that infectious smile.” At 6:30 a.m., when the first rockets were fired at Israel, Leon and Ina, unaware of the gravity of the situation, called Sapir to urge her to come home. “She promised to head out and sent us her phone location,” Leon recalls, his voice trembling. “She tried to calm us immediately. But at some point, everything just stopped, the movement, and then the silence.”
Sapir Bilmes, of blessed memory. Photo: Courtesy of the family
What began as concern soon spiraled into a nightmare. “Lists started circulating,” Ina says of those harrowing days. “She was on every one, here, there. And I told myself: until she calls me, I don’t know where she is. And she never called.” The next day, clinging to hope, Leon and their son Daniel went to the area near the festival. “We reached the spot where her phone had last pinged,” Leon says, pausing. “We stopped and turned back. We even checked Barzilai Hospital, hoping she might have been taken there.” But early Wednesday morning at 5:00 a.m., the devastating call came. “They called us from Shura [military base] and said, ‘Come pick up her belongings,'” Leon says, voice cracking. “We were handed a bag with her pouch and her phone. That’s when we knew.”
Ina tries to piece together the most excruciating moment, when the grim truth became clear. “We were sure she had thrown the phone during the massacre. But when we got it back, covered in blood, we realized she had it on her. She had lost contact. You still imagine it could end differently.” Sapir was murdered at 7:10 a.m., according to security cameras from Kibbutz Alumim, where she and Karin were last seen. Ina believes, “Even if forces were nearby, from what we see in the video, she could have been saved if help had arrived in time.”
Sapir Bilmes, of blessed memory. Photo: Courtesy of the family
The parents clung to every detail that might provide clarity about Sapir’s final moments. “I asked the investigator to confirm that Sapir hadn’t been harmed during the attack,” Ina recounts. “She assured me she hadn’t. My second question was whether the end had been quick. The investigator told me, ‘pretty quick.’ I understood then that maybe Sapir could have been saved.”
Amid tears and sorrow, Leon and Ina describe Sapir’s unique spirit, a young woman who lit up every single place she went to. “She had a special charm that drew people in,” Ina says, her voice filled with longing. “She knew how to be loyal to every group of friends, to make each person feel like they were the most important.” Everyone who knew Sapir remembers her as surrounded by love, a magnet for friends and acquaintances alike. “Sometimes I’d ask her, ‘Sapir, how many hours do you have in a day? Seems like at least 28,'” Ina says through tears. “She juggled two jobs, different circles of friends, parties, and still managed to sleep and leave the house in a state of creative mess only she could organize. She was a true force of nature.”
Sapir Bilmes, of blessed memory. Photo: Courtesy of the family
Sapir was deeply loved and always surrounded by loyal friends who knew they could rely on her. “She was the kind of friend who always showed up exactly when you needed her most,” they say. “It didn’t matter what time of night or what had happened, Sapir would be there.”
Choosing life
When the unimaginable tragedy struck their home, Leon and Ina faced a dilemma no parents should ever confront. “We had only two options,” Ina says, her voice quiet but resolute. “Either gather the strength to keep living, or give up and lie down beside her. There’s no third option in this reality. We fight every day to keep going and to preserve her memory in every way we can,” she continues, with determination. “I want the whole world to know it lost an extraordinary young woman – a girl with a huge heart and irreplaceable talents. The world lost our Sapir.”
Ina pauses, her voice breaking: “No one in the world can give me back her warm hug. The most painful thing is that in the end, I didn’t get to hug her – the last time I embraced my daughter was that Friday in October, right before she left the house.”
