v Instead of attending memorials marking the first anniversary of the October 7 massacre, and the murder of his girlfriend and fellow paramedic Amit Mann, Ofir Peretz found himself on the frontlines in Gaza, fighting in the same neighbourhoods where her Hamas killers originated.

Intense battles disrupted plans to hold a memorial in the northern part of the Netzarim Corridor, where Peretz serves as a reservist paramedic with a reconnaissance battalion. Attempts by Hamas in the area to launch rockets into Israel and target soldiers forced the unit to shift all its focus towards neutralising the threats.

However, on October 6, Peretz had the chance to speak to his company about his girlfriend and her final hours in Kibbutz Be’eri’s clinic where she ran to help save lives as the kibbutz was overrun with terrorists. He told his comrades that fighting near northern Gaza areas such as Al-Zeitoun, where the Nukhba forces who killed Amit had planned and launched their murderous rampage, felt like the most important way to mark the day.

The anniversary of October 7 was “no different from the other days this year,” he told the JC from Gaza. “Our lives turned upside down on this day last year, and won’t return to what they were. We try to continue, we fight and protect what we have, but the losses are unimaginable.”

The pain of losing Amit, his partner of four years, cuts deeply, he said, and even in Gaza, he continues to have dreams of her returning. “It took a long time to even begin to process her murder. Whether it was dreams at night where I imagined she’d return, or a feeling that she was still out there somewhere, ready to come back any moment. The suddenness of her being pulled away from me was – and still is – impossible to fully digest.”

Amit’s grave, next to her father’s

On the day of the Hamas attack, Peretz was on duty at a Magen David Adom station outside of Be’eri. Before leaving, he offered to take Amit, with whom he lived, to her mother’s home in Netivot to escape the incoming rocket barrages. Amit refused, insisting on going to the kibbutz’s clinic to help others.

For hours she remained there under siege as terrorists fired guns and threw grenades at the clinic. Throughout her ordeal Amit exchanged messages with her family, sending updates as the situation grew worse.

Eventually the terrorists breached the clinic. In her final moments Amit sent a chilling voice note that was later widely broadcast, pleading “to make it stop”. Her final text message to Peretz was equally heartbreaking: “I love you, take care of yourself, be strong.”

But for Peretz her loss is compounded by the deep regret that he wasn’t there to save her, despite treating and saving the lives of several dozen others – mostly survivors of the Nova massacre – at the MDA station that day. He said that at the time he didn’t grasp the severity of her plight because during most of their conversations she sounded relatively composed, failing to express the full extent of the horror unfolding around her.

“She sounded like she was OK and that they were protected. She was mainly frustrated that help wasn’t arriving and I kept thinking the army would show up any moment. At no point did it feel like the end was near.

“Of course, when it became clear that wasn’t the case and it ended the way it did, it’s devastating. There’s always this thought in my head, wondering if we could have pushed a bit harder or tried to get to her, to do something about it. I also think that maybe I could have spent more time talking to her, really listening to her.

“There’s a constant feeling that I failed her, that this was her last day and we treated it like any other. That haunts me until now,” he said.

Amit was lionised for her bravery and has since been remembered as one of the heroes of that tragic day. Her story went viral in part because of the abundance of footage that exists of her.

Though she said her work as a paramedic was her mission in life, she also had a deep passion for singing and acting, reaching near-professional levels in both, and there are hours of footage of her performing. She also loved taking photos wherever they went, Peretz said, admitting that at times it annoyed him.

“I’d tell her, who’s going to care about all these pictures? But now, I’m so grateful there are so many photos and videos of her,” he said, adding that he often found himself looking through the photos and reading through their WhatsApp conversations.

“I know they say this about everyone who is killed or dies and it’s almost a cliche but she really was like an angel,” he said, describing how deeply Amit invested herself in everyone around her, from her family and friends to her patients.

In the early days after the attack, Peretz struggled to cope with the overwhelming grief and horror. Despite his experience as a paramedic with MDA, where he was accustomed to witnessing very traumatic and graphic scenes, the personal loss of Amit was too much to bear.

It reached a point where he couldn’t even watch the news or grieve for other friends killed that day, including Avia Hatzroni, a senior medic known as the “father of Be’eri’s MDA station”, with whom Peretz was extremely close.

“I didn’t have the emotional capacity to mourn for him properly. The situation with Amit had consumed all my space for grief,” he said.

During the war Peretz’s unit was deployed into Gaza for six months, but due to his duties at MDA, he stayed behind.

However, when his unit was called up for a second deployment, he refused to remain on the sidelines again.

“I told them I was going in because, for me, being here is about closing a circle. Seeing it first-hand and fighting these terrorists who came from this very place and murdered, butchered, violated, and abused our people – including, of course, Amit,” he said.