"We all have someone escorting us through life if we choose to notice," she told them. "Look for your butterflies."
Her visit aimed to instill a sense of responsibility and hope in the next generation.

"This is a place of fostering connections," explained Granit Almog-Bareket, head of MOTJ’s Institute of Leadership. "Even in our history, we have seen how disputes arise and how they must be managed. King Solomon, when tasked with building the Beit Hamikdash, did not ask for wealth or power—he asked for a heart that listens. Even then, our nation faced immense challenges. But our strength lies in our ability to listen, to learn, and to make a change."

"It’s a miracle I’m standing here today," Ben David said, her voice steady despite the weight of her story.
Ben David recalled the days leading up to the festival—how she had just returned from India and how an unshakable sense of unease settled in her stomach. "I had a horrible feeling. I couldn’t explain it. But I didn’t want to cancel at the last minute."

On the final day of Sukkot, she and her boyfriend, David, made their way to the festival. "We hugged, danced, and treasured the moment as the sun rose." Then, in an instant, everything changed.
"I looked up and saw rockets," she said. "The music stopped. We weren’t sure what to do."

As chaos erupted, they ran. At one point, Ben David’s knees gave out, and she fell to the ground. Her boyfriend kneeled beside her and said he would not leave her. “So I took a deep breath and kept going," she said.
In the panic, they encountered two yellow dumpsters where others were gathered. "We called family, the police—anyone who could help. But it was clear: nobody was coming." Gunfire and explosions surrounded them, and soon after, Ben David was shot.

"I crumbled into myself. I couldn’t even cry," she said. Then came the worst moment. "My boyfriend David was murdered right in front of me. I heard his last grasp for breath as his soul left his body."

Eventually, IDF soldiers arrived and rescued her. "David was engulfed in blood," she remembered, "but his silhouette looked like a fallen angel." Of the sixteen people who hid in the dumpster with them, only four survived. Ben David was rushed to the hospital, underwent two surgeries, and has since been in a grueling rehabilitation process.
But Ben David was not alone in her survival. Sitting before the students, she spoke of the people who had helped her heal—the ones who refused to let tragedy silence her.

"I felt like I couldn’t sit down and do nothing," she said. "I was broken from the inside out. But I realized that sharing my story could give others strength and is part of the healing process. We are not alone in our grief. Crying doesn’t make us weak. Some people feel like they can’t express their pain and think something is wrong with them. I want them to know—they are not alone."

Her connection to the Museum of Tolerance became a part of that healing. "I first came here to take part in their 06:29: From Darkness To Light exhibition," she shared. "It was an honor. It’s a space where women’s voices are heard. Where our stories—our pain, our strength—are seen."

As the event concluded, Almog Bareket urged the students to reflect on what they had heard. "Every person needs to make a change; otherwise, we risk going back to October 6. Right now, we are all in a different place. Our mission today is to give you a sense of responsibility. The exhibition you’ve all viewed is called ‘From Darkness to Light.’ We are all still in the darkness, but together, we can find our way into the light."