Nova survivors using psychedelics 'on their own terms' to aid healing, study finds

The participants, 25 men and 20 women in their late teens to mid-40s, were all at the Nova music festival when Hamas terrorists stormed the site on October 7. Every one of them had taken at least one hallucinogenic or psychoactive drug, including LSD, MDMA, ecstasy, ketamine, mushrooms, or mescaline, when the attack began.

That fact has profoundly shaped their recovery, the researchers say.

Survivors describe carrying a “double” stigma—first as trauma victims of a national catastrophe, and second as young people who were using illegal psychedelics at a rave when it happened. Many feared that therapists, officials, and the broader public would see them only as “drugged-out party kids” rather than as legitimate victims deserving compassion and support.

According to the study, the fear of judgment and blame kept some Nova survivors away from mainstream services and made them censor key parts of their story even when they did seek help.

The research, conducted by Dr. Guy Simon and colleagues and framed by a “multisystemic resilience” model, is based on in-depth Hebrew interviews that ranged from 42 minutes to almost two hours.

All 45 survivors were receiving psychological support at the time of the interviews. Most were recruited through Lev Batuach (SafeHeart), an Israeli trauma and harm reduction organization that emerged from within the country’s psychedelic and trance scene.

According to the study, this kind of nonjudgmental, trauma- and drug-literate approach made the difference between dropping out of treatment and staying in it.

The researchers identify two overlapping recovery pathways that run through the survivors’ stories.

The first is interpersonal and therapeutic support. Survivors describe the importance of therapists who could handle conversations about LSD trips, terror, guilt, and spirituality in the same room and who did not instantly pathologize or criminalize the drug use itself. In parallel, close friendships formed in the trenches of October 7 have continued as 24/7 support systems: shared apartments, WhatsApp groups, constant check-ins, and an unspoken understanding that “only people who were there really get it.”

For many, just sitting around a table with other Nova survivors, even without talking directly about the attack, reduced isolation and gave them a sense that life could again resemble what it had been before.

The second pathway is collective healing practices. Here, the trance and festival world becomes a resource rather than only the backdrop of the trauma.

Survivors take part in grassroots healing retreats and open “compounds” that combine group therapy, bodywork, movement, nature, art, and breathwork. Having a clear daily schedule in these retreats, from morning circles to evening activities, was described as restoring a sense of time and stability when life felt shattered.

Memorial events, storytelling circles, and “closing the circle” ceremonies play a central role. These are often infused with trance scene symbols, music, and spirituality and are designed to transform the dance floor from a place of horror back into a place of connection and meaning.

They are using psychedelics again, on their own terms.

One of the most striking and controversial findings is that some survivors chose to use psychedelics again as part of their recovery, under very different conditions.

The study describes survivors who returned to MDMA or mushrooms in tightly held group settings with other Nova survivors, clear intentions, and integration support. Rather than escape, these sessions were framed as “corrective experiences”—chances to feel gratitude for being alive, to process grief, and to rewrite the association between psychedelics and terror.

In some cases, survivors deliberately went back to international trance festivals or Nova-themed gatherings abroad. Attending, dancing, and sometimes using psychedelics were described as acts of defiance, a way of refusing to let October 7 permanently steal music, community, and altered states from their lives.

The authors stress that psychedelics in themselves did not magically cure anyone. What mattered was the web of systems around them—friends, therapists, NGOs, and rituals that turned intense experiences into something that could be understood and integrated.

Rather than viewing resilience as a personal trait, the study uses a multisystemic framework that examines interactions among individuals, relationships, communities, and culture.

In the Nova survivors’ stories, resilience does not mean “bouncing back” alone but slowly weaving a new life through: Individual coping skills and therapy; Intense peer solidarity and shared housing; Community initiatives like SafeHeart and other survivor-led groups; Cultural practices rooted in trance and festival culture, including ceremonies, music, and spiritual language.

In this sense, the psychedelic scene is portrayed as both a risk context and a source of strength. The same networks and values that drew people to Nova are now helping them cope with what happened there.

For Israel’s mental health system, the study poses uncomfortable questions.

First, it shows how stigma around illegal drug use can silence survivors and block access to care. If people believe they will be blamed for taking LSD or MDMA at a festival, they may never tell their full story, which can weaken any treatment they do receive.

Second, it suggests that trauma services must be culturally sensitive, especially in a country where October 7 touched very different subcultures, from kibbutzim and religious communities to rave and psychedelic scenes. A one-size-fits-all protocol is unlikely to work for everyone.

Third, the study hints at the potential role of carefully held psychedelic experiences in trauma recovery, a topic that is already being explored in clinical research worldwide. Simultaneously, the authors warn against isolating such work, emphasizing its integration into robust therapeutic and community frameworks.

For Nova survivors who were high when the massacre began, the road back is long and uncertain. What this new research makes clear is that for many of them, healing is not a private journey in a clinic but a shared project, built in circles, compounds, ceremonies, and conversations that stretch from the desert dance floor into the heart of Israeli society.