“Memory fades quickly,” says photojournalist Chen Schimmel when asked why she chose to publish her book. For Schimmel, that fading isn’t just a risk, it’s a form of loss in itself. “In a world where everything moves so fast,” she says, “the danger is that even the most painful truths can disappear into the noise. Photography has the power to stop that, to hold a moment still, to make sure that what was seen once cannot be forgotten."
Her new book, October 7 | Bearing Witness, seeks precisely to do that – to freeze time, if only briefly, and preserve a truth the world is already trying to forget. It compiles her photographs from the first year of the war, alongside the words of soldiers, survivors, hostage families, and volunteers. It is neither easy to look at nor to produce.
But Schimmel emphasizes it was necessary. "It tells, in many ways, the story of our people, that again and again we rise from the ashes, that even in darkness, we find the strength to create light. We do not just survive; We find the strength to create light, not merely to survive, but to heal and to live again."
When discussing October 7, her sentences are simple and steady, though her voice carries the weight of that day. “I went south to bear witness to the horror and tragedy,” she states. That morning, she was at her parents’ house when the sirens sounded. “My younger brother had just been drafted. My older brother left immediately that morning to fight in Be’eri. Later that day, my younger brother went to his base, and soon after, my third brother was also called up."
Watching them depart, one after another, she realized she couldn’t remain still. "My shlichut, my duty, in all this was to document our history as it unfolded. I am a photographer. That is my response to the world." While her brothers went to fight, she grabbed her camera and headed south. What she encountered in Be’eri, she says, nothing prepared her for.
“The silence, the smell, the feeling that life has been ripped out of the air." There were moments when she couldn’t take another picture. “There were times I had to put the camera down, holding it in one hand while, with the other, I knelt to help gather the blood of the murdered with ZAKA volunteers.”
She pauses softly before adding, “It was not about taking pictures then. It was about doing something human in a place that had been stripped of humanity." Those moments, she says, redefined what photography meant to her. “You stop being a journalist. You become someone among the ruins, trying to restore some dignity to what remains."
Turning those images into a book became, for her, a way to endure what she had witnessed. “It gave the pain direction,” she explains. “It allowed me to carry the grief differently, to transform witnessing into remembrance." This idea, that remembrance helps healing, traces back further in her life. When Schimmel was seventeen, she visited Auschwitz on a supposed school trip.
“It was intended to be educational, but for me, it wasn’t. It was personal," she says. Her grandmother fled Poland as a baby. Her great-grandfather fought with the Russian army while his parents and eight siblings were murdered. “She once spoke fourteen languages,” Schimmel shares. "Standing there, I realized how fragile memory is, how easily silence takes its place. That was the moment I understood someone must carry these stories when those who lived them can no longer."
On October 7, that understanding flooded back. “The silence I feared at Auschwitz returned, not as history but as something unfolding before me,” she says. “I knew I had to record what I saw honestly and carefully before it was altered, forgotten, or denied.” Her photographs are acts of resistance, not against an enemy, but against erasure.
“Bearing Witness,” she explains, “serves as both a document and a testimony. It preserves the story of that day and the following year with truth, dignity, and compassion.” The people in her photos – soldiers, families, survivors – are not mere symbols or statistics. “Families, neighbors, ordinary people whose worlds were shattered.” Yet, amid the grief, she emphasizes resilience. “This book isn't only about loss; it’s about what refused to be lost. Each page contains grief and grace.”
When she discusses “the power of bearing witness,” she doesn’t see it as an abstract idea. “I want readers to feel both the darkness and the light that emerged from it. That’s what it means to bear witness: confronting harsh truths while recognizing humanity.” If readers close the book with even a faint understanding that pain and hope can coexist, she believes it’s fulfilled its purpose.
“Because what this book truly shows is that even when everything falls apart, we find ways to stand, to support one another, and to rebuild.” One photograph, especially, remains with her, titled 'Holy Work'. “It depicts a ZAKA volunteer carefully collecting blood from the floor of a murdered man’s home in Be’eri,” she explains.
“He handles it with reverence, because, in our tradition, even the blood of the deceased must be collected and buried properly.” For Schimmel, this image epitomizes her work. “It captures horror and humanity side by side—the worst acts and the enduring dignity. It’s not just about war; it’s about love disguised as duty, and the dignity that persists beyond brutality.”
When 'Holy Work' was named Local Testimony's Photo of the Year, she says it wasn’t about recognition. “It meant that others saw what I saw, that even in darkness, there are hands trying to restore light, and people insisting that life and sanctity matter.”
All proceeds from the book go to Project Dror, part of the Summit Institute supporting soldiers with PTSD. “Because not everyone can transform darkness into light,” she notes. “And remembering must aid the living’s healing process.” For Schimmel, photography is a duty way to bridge silence and remembrance. “
As I witnessed horror and tragedy,” she reflects, “I also found the strength, courage, and light within our people.” She views her work as an ongoing act of that courage. “October 7 | Bearing Witness became a way to hold both truths – devastation and the resilience of the human spirit.” She circles back to her initial point, almost as a reminder: “Memory fades quickly,” she repeats, “so we must keep it alive – not just what we’ve lost, but what we’ve discovered through losses.”
Written in collaboration with Chen Schimmel