"I Played Dead and Prayed for Hours—That’s What Saved Me"

Nati Ganun, a 40-year-old father of three from Bat Yam, never imagined that what began as a joyful night at the Nova party would become a day of horror. He went with his beloved wife, Shiran, a woman full of life and light. Only he returned home.

“At 6:30 in the morning, the sirens started,” Nati recalls. “The music stopped, and at first, no one really understood what was happening. Then it became clear—we were under attack.”

They jumped into their car to flee, but traffic was gridlocked. People were panicking. The roads were filling with gunfire. They got out of the car and began to run. That’s when it happened.

“Someone near us was shot in their car,” Nati says. “People started running toward us, so we ran too. Shiran was shot in her leg. She looked at me and said, ‘Nati, what is this?’ I told her, ‘It’s okay, we’re okay.’ I tied my hoodie around her leg and we kept moving. But then I was shot too. I looked down and saw my leg—shattered. I wanted to keep going, but it was impossible.”

Realizing he could no longer move, Nati made a split-second decision that would save his life: he told Shiran to run ahead and dropped to the ground, pretending to be dead. Terrorists passed right by him, so close he could hear them reloading their weapons and speaking.

"I heard the bullets flying over me. I didn’t move. I just lay there like I was already gone.”

And then, in that moment of helplessness, Nati did what so many of us would hope to do—he turned to Hashem.

“I started praying. I spoke to Hashem, to the tzaddikim, to anyone I could think of. It was hours of hitbodedut. I just poured my heart out. It was the only thing I could do.”

For nearly five hours, he lay completely still, hidden by only a thread of mercy and his whispered tefillot. Miraculously, the terrorists never checked if he was alive.

Nati survived—but the loss was devastating. In the days that followed, he learned that his dear wife Shiran had been murdered. The pain is deep, but so is his gratitude.

“I’m here. I’m with my children. I miss her every second, but I thank Hashem every day that I’m alive. That I can hold my kids. That I had the chance to pray.”

His story is one of pain, courage, and an unshakable connection to Hashem—even in the darkest moment.