A support group was created for Holocaust survivors after an Iranian missile struck near the 'Amcha' center in Rehovot last week. The building remains abandoned, with shattered windows, cracked walls, and no protected room (Mamad) inside.
As a result, all activities have been suspended. For the elderly people who visit the center each week, however, it’s more than just a club — it's home. Now, with the facility damaged and no place to gather, they have one request: not to be forgotten.
"The forest didn't scare me—and neither did the missiles," says Sarah Weinstein, 90, a Holocaust survivor from Yavne, whose determination remains unwavering. As a child, she survived alone in the forests of Poland for three years, after her parents were murdered by the Nazis. Decades later, she is once again fighting—not for her life, but for the right to live a life of meaning.
"I’m not willing to give up on life, hope, or the place I call ‘my second home’—the ‘Amcha’ club in Rehovot," she told Walla.
The missile that struck caused significant damage. Sarah explained: "All the windows were broken. Even if it’s repaired, there’s no Mamad there. That means we, the group of Holocaust survivors, can’t meet. And that’s the hardest part. We need an alternative place to meet. We need to be together, not just on Zoom. Not all of us have eyes that can handle it. I close my eyes because they burn, I just listen, and it’s very hard."
For more than a decade, Sarah had been visiting the club twice a week, supported by the Ministry of Finance for the mental health benefits she gains there. Every trip is a journey of life. "The club is our home," she shares. "There, we meet people who have experienced similar things, we get love, support, care—that’s what gives us the will to keep going."
More than anything, the survivors wish to go back to their meetings
Despite the challenges she’s faced, including a bullet wound to her shoulder and back during her childhood, Sarah speaks with resilience and optimism.
"I wake up every morning and say: I need to live today. Yesterday is over. What will happen tomorrow, no one knows. I have a country, I have an army that protects me, and that’s a lot. I pass on my testimony to the younger generation, I accompany delegations to Poland, and I share my story. But more than anything, I want us to be able to meet again. Not through a screen, but together. That’s what keeps us going."
In her closing remarks, Sarah makes a heartfelt appeal: "I’m not asking for myself, but for all of us. Give us a place. A safe place. Because our home was hit, and our hearts want to meet again."
Dina Dega, 84, from Rehovot, born in Ukraine and also a Holocaust survivor, faces this new hardship with remarkable strength. When the siren sounds, she knows exactly what to do. "I take my walker, hold the caregiver's hand, and slowly go down to the shelter. Even if it’s in the middle of the night. I live alone on the second floor, and I always try to be the first to go down—to avoid disturbing parents with young children in the building."
Last week, an Iranian missile struck the branch she has attended for years. "All the windows shattered," she recalls. "But the staff didn’t leave us for a moment. They call, talk, hold daily Zoom activities, even exercise and yoga classes. We are Holocaust survivors—but we don’t survive alone."
Dina doesn’t consider herself religious, but she has unwavering faith—in people and in society. "I believe in people. In the community. In the ‘Amcha’ staff. These are people with big hearts. They give us strength. Thanks to them, I don’t feel alone. Even in the shelter, we sit together, talk, and take care of each other."
Her message to all of Israel is clear: "Each of us can sit and cry, but we can also find the strength. It depends on us. I believe that the people of Israel are wonderful, with extraordinary strength, despite all the disagreements among us. We have no other country—and we need to protect it, and ourselves."
With a quiet but determined voice, she concludes: "I am a survivor. For the second time in my life. And I will continue to do whatever is needed."
At the ‘Amcha’ association, they explain that although the building was damaged, activities have not stopped. The staff continues to support the survivors remotely, speaking with them daily by phone, holding Zoom groups, and visiting homes when necessary.
The social meetings aren’t a luxury—they’re an existential need, especially for survivors who live alone and carry deep trauma, the association points out.
Efforts are underway to find an alternative location, with a protected room, where essential activities for the survivors can take place.
What is certain is that Sarah and Dina cannot be stopped. Not by the forests, not by the ghettos, not by the pain, and not by the missiles. The building where they found comfort may be gone, but their spirits remain strong.
"The club is our home," Sarah repeats. "The home was hit, and our hearts want to meet again." Dina adds: "We are survivors. But we don’t need to survive alone. Just let us continue together."
Dafna Mitrani Dagan, the manager of the ‘Amcha’ Rehovot branch, stated: "Many of our patients and/or their family members were recently affected by the Iranian missile attacks. Despite this, everyone who can is contributing with full professional responsibility to help both Holocaust survivors and all those affected by the Iranian missile strikes."
"Our therapists are going to the evacuees and doing everything they can to assist them. Meanwhile, ongoing activities continue as much as possible with Holocaust survivors (according to the IDF Home Front Command guidelines), with both treatments and social activities being conducted via Zoom.
Additionally, we maintain personal and continuous contact with all survivors, patients, the Ministry of Defense, health funds, One of Nine, and others, as well as their families, to assist them in every way we can," he concluded.