Carmel's Anchor

In brief: Carmel Bar'ad is eight years old, from Nir Oz. She loves drawing, cooking, and going to the pool and the beach. Carmel has autism, a visual impairment, balance difficulties, and epilepsy — conditions that make the world a hard place to understand and navigate. On October 7th, she was with her family in their safe room in Nir Oz, and her father had to physically hold her down and keep her quiet to save her life. Her grandfather was murdered that day. She lost her home, her sense of safety, everything she knew. Since then, an occupational therapist named Yael has been by her side, gradually helping her regain a sense that the world is safe, and the ability to function like other children her age. The funding for her treatment has run out. Yael treated her voluntarily for six months, but that is not sustainable. Carmel needs two more years of this treatment, and she needs your help. The full story: Carmel loves to draw, loves to cook, and more than anything, loves going to the pool and the beach. She has loving parents, a younger sister, Almog, and a little brother, Rotem. She's eight years old, with autism and a rare genetic mutation that makes her see less clearly than most children, makes it hard for her to keep her balance, and puts her at risk of an epileptic seizure at any moment. Until October 7, 2023, Carmel lived in Nir Oz, attended a special-needs kindergarten in the community, close to home, and was slowly learning to communicate and manage her special needs. On the morning of October 7th, Carmel was five years old. She was in the safe room with her parents, Eyal and Tal, and her younger siblings. Terrorists broke into the kibbutz. Outside, they could hear gunfire and explosions, and the air was thick with smoke. Through a small camera installed outside their door just a week earlier, Eyal and Tal watched in horror as their neighbors were taken from their homes. They knew their only chance was to stay quiet. But Carmel couldn't understand that. She fought, screamed, tried to break free and leave the safe room. Eyal forced her down and covered her mouth, trying to quiet her. Terrorists reached their porch. Carmel bit Eyal, struggled, and scratched him. For a moment, he didn't know what to do. He looked at Tal. "How long do I keep holding her like this?" A few moments passed, and then Tal said, "Let go." Even today, remembering it makes him shake. "I couldn't have lived with the thought that something happened to her because of me." He let go. Come what may. They don't know how they survived — why the terrorists never came inside. Carmel's grandfather didn't survive. He was murdered that day, along with so many friends, neighbors, and loved ones from the community. That moment — a little girl with special needs fighting against the very hand trying to save her — didn't end on October 7th. It still lives on in Carmel's body. Every uncertainty, every change, every unexpected sound makes the world feel unsafe again. And then she met Yael. Yael is an occupational therapist who has stayed by Carmel's side since the evacuation from Nir Oz. Amid all the upheaval in Carmel's life, Yael is her anchor. She's there with Carmel at school, at home, in the community. She teaches her to recognize emotional overload before it turns into a meltdown. Together, again and again, they build what other children absorb naturally: how to stay connected with a friend, how to find balance again after the world starts to feel too big. For Carmel, Yael is one adult she can always count on, unconditionally. Together, they're building the foundation everything else can be rebuilt on. Carmel needs two more years of treatment. There's already a structured plan for a full day of therapy each week, one that will help solidify what's been achieved and help her function at the level of other children her age, despite the trauma. Yael kept treating Carmel even after the organizational funding stopped. For six months, she kept showing up as a volunteer, because she wasn't willing to give up on Carmel partway through. But volunteering isn't something you can ask someone to sustain forever. Now Carmel needs $70,000 to fund two full years of the treatment she so badly needs — so that Yael can continue without the entire burden falling on her alone. You are Carmel's hope for recovery. Every donation, of any amount, helps get her there.