‘I Love You. See You Tomorrow’: Oct. 7, the Day My Life Changed Forever

My family moved from Baltimore to Israel in August 2012, two weeks before starting high school. I wasn’t thrilled. The first person I saw in the first classroom I entered was a young man named David Newman. David was born in Israel and was everything I wasn’t. He spoke Hebrew. I didn’t. He was at home in the culture. I was lost. He was confident. I was shy. In time, we became close friends. In terms of becoming comfortable and at home in Israel, David raised me.

Last Oct. 6, David borrowed my car to attend the Nova Music Festival in southern Israel with his girlfriend, Noam. Before he drove away, I said what came so naturally: “I love you. See you tomorrow.” But tomorrow never came. That was the last time I saw David alive.

When I walked into Jerusalem’s YTA High School, I was short and chubby. While I had been an all-star Little League pitcher in America, no one ever accused me of being athletic.

David wasn’t exactly an athletic build either, though when he devoted himself to working out and transforming himself, I followed his lead. When I felt like quitting, David pushed me, and that became a pattern. Football? David pushed me. Ultimate frisbee? David pushed me. Whenever I confronted my comfort zone, which was often, David pushed me.

After high school, David and I stayed close, and he kept pushing me. He insisted that we travel the world simultaneously, but each on his own. Traveling individually, David told me, would let each of us delve deeper into himself. I wasn’t fully on board with his discover-yourself-by-yourself idea, but David’s confidence won the day. We booked tickets for Central America and made a pact to keep it solo and not travel together.

A month into my journey, I was on Mexico’s Isla Mujeres. I called David to check on his progress. By coincidence, we were on the same island! That was the beginning of the end of our discover-yourself-by-yourself pact. We met at midday for tacos. Lunch turned into dinner. Dinner became a weekend that stretched on for six amazing weeks of travel and shared self-discovery.

After returning from Mexico, we moved in together until David and Noam jetted off to India and Sri Lanka. By May 2023, I was sharing an apartment with four other close high school friends. One day I texted David, “When are you coming back?” He replied: “I’ll be back in two weeks, and the couch better be clean because I’m moving in with you guys.”

David, Gabe, Gani, Moshe, and me. We were together again, having even more fun than in our high school days. And then came Oct. 6.

That Friday morning, I awoke to everything I loved about living with David. We both woke up late, after a night of partying. We prepared our bucket-sized French press of stronger-than-strong coffee, and made a ridiculously large shakshuka for breakfast, ceviche, and garlic bread.

David mentioned that he wanted to attend a music festival with Noam the next day. He asked to borrow my car. 

“Of course, bro,” I replied. “I just need you to drop me at my parent’s place for Shabbat.” Hours later, when David left me there, I turned to him and said, “I love you. See you tomorrow.” And then I watched David drive off, for the last time.

Air raid sirens shook us awake on Saturday morning, Oct. 7. After quickly checking the news, the first thing I did was text David. “I hope you’re up north.” He responded, “Pray for me, and pray for your car.” His sense of humor remained still intact. I had no inkling of how bad things actually were. No one did.

An hour later, another text arrived. “Pray for me,” David wrote. “Something terrible has happened.” He said that he was at the Nova Festival and that he, Noam, and 14 others were hiding in a dumpster.

My life was about to change.

Gidon, another close friend of David’s, and I decided we needed to find him. After donating blood and picking up a couple of guns and bulletproof vests, we headed south with Ezra, David’s cousin, and, like David, a hero.

I received David’s final text around noon. “F-ing pray for me now!”

An hour later, Gidon and Ezra hitched a ride on an ambulance, passed through Israel’s hastily constructed new border on Route 232, and prayed that they would find David. Route 232 had become a causeway of brutal carnage. Though they didn’t save David, they saved many other lives.

We spent the next day desperately seeking David.

Our search ended abruptly on Sunday night, Oct. 8. We received a photo on WhatsApp. Amid a pile of bodies in a field, we identified David. We recognized his shoes and the shirt he borrowed from me on Friday night.

I suddenly was lost. David was a huge, strong, fill-the-room-with-life guy. Always dancing and smiling, always bringing light and love into every life he touched, and I just identified his lifeless body. It was like falling into a bottomless pit. While searching for him, I absolutely believed he was alive. I imagined him walking out of Gaza, gun slung over his shoulder, smiling, and reassuring us that everything would be okay. 

Then, suddenly, nothing was right. Nothing was okay. Nothing has been okay since.

In many ways, before Oct. 7, I was blinded by the ease with which my life was unfolding. I gave little thought to Jewish history, the meaning of being a Jew, or my place in this world. That night, all I could do was think. My heart was shattered, my mind was racing, and the only clear thing was my intense urge to do something.

I opened a WhatsApp group, called it “Let’s Do Something,” and added several of David’s friends. I wrote a document in which I explained that, one way or another, we were going to help Israel.

Within 24 hours, we transformed our friend’s mother’s Long Island home into a warehouse. We suddenly were immersed in phone calls with Israeli soldiers, their commanders, and their families. We gathered the gear that they desperately needed and scheduled a flight with El-Al Cargo to bring it immediately to Israel. Shortly before David’s funeral began on Tuesday, Oct. 10, 10 tons of aid that we had arranged landed at David Ben Gurion Airport. Next stop: The Israel Defense Forces and its soldiers who, even then, were rushing into battle to defend us all.

I barely remember those first days and months. I was immersed in a haze of shock and grief-based reaction, and an overwhelming sense that I needed to help my people and country — the same people and country to which I previously had given little thought.

Somehow, Ike Bodner, David Gani, Gidon Hazony, Moshe Shear, and I launched an organization called Soldiers Save Lives, now called Let’s Do Something. Over the last year, Let’s Do Something has evolved from a group of grieving best friends from high school who wanted to do something into a nonprofit organization that has served over 70,000 soldiers and refugee families. Some 50 million people worldwide have read, watched, and listened to our social media posts. And we just launched David’s Circle, a trauma healing center in Thailand. This sanctuary offers essential, multidisciplinary care and support to the wounded souls of soldiers and Nova survivors as they strive toward recovery and wellness.

Oct. 7 unleashed collective trauma across Israeli society. Collective trauma requires collective healing, and David’s Circle, led by highly regarded trauma specialists and a team of qualified volunteer therapists, is beginning to fill the large and pressing need for collective healing.

Let’s Do Something’s mission is to inspire pro-Israel engagement, enhance Israeli defenses, and serve those affected by Oct. 7. In memory of David Newman, somehow, this group of friends whom I love so much has done incredible things over the last year. I have accomplished things I never imagined possible. None of us is the same man or woman whom we were last Oct. 6. Alas, none of this will bring back David, and for that, we will ache forever.

When I told David, “I love you. See you tomorrow,” that wasn’t a question. It was a statement. 

It took the awful murder of my best friend to help me understand what my people have faced for thousands of years. If we defeat our enemies, stand strong, and thrive for another 3,000 years, it only will happen by doing something, together.

I sincerely hope that nobody else must lose a friend, brother, mother, cousin, or neighbor to realize what he or she needs to do. I now understand that we all possess the capacity to do something that truly matters. 

I urge you: Don’t wait for tomorrow, because tomorrow doesn’t always come.

Baruch “Bucky” Apisdorf is the CEO of Jerusalem-based Let’s Do Something.

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