The rape case in Eilat returned S. to the gang rape she went through in the southern city on vacation • "My age did not change them, their age did not change me, their number does not matter"

• Demonstration following the rape in Eilat

  Photo: 

  Joshua Joseph

You, yes you, that the whole country expresses its opinion about the severe trauma you have experienced. Instead of dealing with the essence - your punishment and trauma - develop an irrelevant discussion about whether the gang rape you went through included 30 assailants, 20 or ten. Who cares?

I'll tell you what she's going through in these moments. She is still in the beginning. Ranging from denial to isolation, with anger and depression. Maybe acceptance. I really do not know. What I do know is that as a middle school girl I was gang-raped - and yes, in Eilat. 

I was only 14 and a bit old, one in front of a few. I remember being asked "how many were they?", I replied that it didn't really matter - one, five, ten or 30, no difference. My age did not change them, their age did not change me, their number does not matter. They were, and still are, the lowest human beings I have ever known. 

It happened when I went to Eilat with the family, a week after I met a 16-year-old boy. We happened to be in Eilat at the same time. We met, kissed and arranged to meet the next day. We met and went out to "hang out". That's what he called it. "Come to our apartment," he said.

With the first one I was in agreement, but from that moment the realistic nightmare began - and everything blurred. Hours of abuse. I opened my eyes intermittently, hoping I was dreaming and everything would pass. I asked them to stop. My body ached. The mind disconnected and returned occasionally, refusing to contain the pain and insult. I just wanted to run away. With my last strength I pushed and screamed. Then everyone - all those boys - realized that what had happened there was not right. They paid me for a taxi and I went back to the hotel.

In the room, in the shower, the pains were discovered. I scrubbed my body, as if trying to take off the layer they had touched. 

I did not tell anything. What is there to tell? How do you explain what I went through? After all, I went voluntarily, expressing consent in the first few minutes. What will my parents say?

Four years of intensive psychological treatment kept me alive. I am not a hero, but a survivor! I survived to be a listening ear to female soldiers during military service as an officer. I started a family and built a house in Israel. I succeeded. Despite the trauma, despite the scar, despite the nightmares that never stopped. I am one of many. We all survive! The demonstration in Rabin Square, last night: Yehoshua Yosef