Heroic First Responder Recounts Life-Saving Efforts on 'The Road of Death' During Oct 7th

On October 7th, Aharon Ben Haroush, a 28-year-old EMT and ambulance dispatcher for United Hatzalah, embarked on a mission that would forever change his life. Despite having rescued civilians during the war in Ukraine, nothing prepared him for the chaos he encountered that morning as he raced towards southern Israel to respond to what would later be known as one of the darkest days in the nation's history.

After a peaceful Simchat Torah celebration the night before, Ben Haroush woke up to a phone call from Nehorai Darshan, head of the United Hatzalah branch in Sderot. A major emergency was unfolding in the South. As air raid sirens blared, signaling incoming missiles to Jerusalem, he quickly dispatched ambulances and set off toward the epicenter of the crisis with his mother-in-law, Gitty, by his side.

“Nobody knew what was happening,” Ben Haroush recounted. “We understood something was happening, but nobody understood exactly what.”

Driving along Route 232 soon to be infamously known as the "Road of Death" he encountered scenes of unimaginable fear and chaos. Amid the constant missile fire, Ben Haroush and his team set up a command center, organizing ambulances and sending medics into the danger zones of Kfar Azza, Sderot, and Be’eri. "Crazy medics," as he called them, were ready to risk their lives to help others, and with each dispatch, he gave them hugs that felt like final goodbyes.

Ben Haroush witnessed unimaginable horrors. He recalls a soldier driving up to him with a car full of comrades, many of whom had succumbed to their wounds. Despite the overwhelming sadness, he urged the soldier to return to the fight. “It’s a tough decision, but the living are the ones who matter,” Ben Haroush explained, grappling with the heart-wrenching choice to leave the dead behind.

As the day wore on, the ambulances became a “terrifying train” filled with the wounded and dying. Bloodied soldiers and civilians were transported in what Ben Haroush described as a non-stop conveyor belt of pain. The true scale of the massacre became clear when a teenage girl arrived, having run 15 kilometers with a bullet wound in her leg.

Volunteers from all walks of life soon poured in to assist in the rescue efforts, transcending any social or religious divides. “Nobody cared who was religious and who wasn’t,” he said, sharing the image of a man in a prayer shawl carrying a wounded girl from a festival. It was a day where humanity and solidarity shone through the darkness.

One commander pleaded with Ben Haroush to take the bodies of fallen soldiers to boost the morale of his troops. Though focused on rescuing the living, Ben Haroush understood the importance of the request. "If my soldiers see the dead, they will all break down," the commander explained.

Through the chaos, a moment of personal hope emerged when Ben Haroush reunited with his grandmother in Sderot, who had survived the attack. “I was the first hope she saw,” he recalled, holding her hand as she wept.

Now, a year later, Ben Haroush continues to grapple with the trauma of that day. “We begged and begged for more help but didn’t get it,” he reflected, still haunted by the overwhelming need for more assistance. Yet, he finds solace in knowing that he did everything he could. Helping others, he says, remains one of the best forms of therapy.

“We were there, right in the heart of the fighting, amid the bombardments, to provide answers and help,” he said. “I know that I did the best that I could, and that helps me a lot.”

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