Come in for one minute. Not an hour but just one minute.
In a Shoreditch building whose address was withheld until morning, London became the tenth city to host an exhibition documenting the October 7 massacre at the Nova music festival, where 378 people were killed and 44 taken hostage. Surrounded by police vans and security personnel, the show opens not as a political statement but as an act of witness — an attempt to hold individual lives and deaths against the tide of denial. Survivors and bereaved families ask only that skeptics step inside for a single minute, trusting that evidence, when faced directly, carries a weight that argument cannot.
- The exhibition's London location was kept secret until the morning of opening day, with police vans and suited security personnel forming a visible perimeter around a building that held footage, burned wreckage, and the belongings of the dead.
- When the same show traveled to New York, hundreds of protesters gathered outside, calling it propaganda — a response that has only deepened the resolve of survivors and bereaved families to keep it traveling.
- Elkana Bohbot, who spent 690 days in a tunnel beneath Gaza as a hostage, made a single appeal to potential demonstrators in London: come inside for just one minute and let the evidence speak.
- The exhibition documents individual deaths in granular detail — a 22-year-old British-Israeli soldier who threw grenades back out of a crowded bomb shelter until an RPG killed him, and a 26-year-old security guard whose last words to his father were a quiet declaration of love before the line went silent.
- Organizers describe the traveling show as a direct counter to historical revisionism, and with ten cities completed, they have made clear it will not stop.
Police vans lined the street outside an east London building on opening day, officers moving along the pavement while security personnel in dark suits watched every approach. The location had been withheld until that morning — a precaution that said something about the weight of what waited inside. This was an exhibition about a music festival where, on October 7, 2023, 378 people were killed, 44 taken hostage, and 19 of those hostages died in captivity in Gaza.
When the exhibition traveled to New York, hundreds of protesters gathered in Lower Manhattan, some calling it propaganda, some disputing the scale of what occurred. Elkana Bohbot, who helped organize the original festival and spent 738 days as a hostage — 690 of them in a tunnel beneath Gaza — had a simple request for anyone planning to demonstrate in London: come inside for one minute. Not an hour. One minute.
The exhibition moves visitors through a sequence that begins with a three-minute film of dancers in early morning light, then cuts to the moment the DJ was told to stop the music. The next room is dark and loud, with burned-out cars and shot-through toilet cubicles. Audio plays of people hiding under bushes, of long marches toward safety, and of a Hamas attacker calling his father to boast about what he had done.
One exhibit shows CCTV footage of Aner Shapiro, 22, a British-Israeli off-duty soldier who had come to dance with friends. Finding 27 people crowded into a bomb shelter built for eight, he told them his name, told them he was a soldier, told them not to be afraid. He threw back as many as 11 grenades before an RPG struck him. His parents learned every detail of his final moments through phone footage and that CCTV recording.
Jake Marlowe, 26, was working as an unarmed security guard. His last call to his father in north London came at 4:30 in the morning — not to ask for money, as his father first assumed, but to say he loved him and that there were paragliders in the air. He said he would call back when things calmed down. He never did. His father later identified his body in a morgue in Israel. "We are not lying," Michael Marlowe said.
Aner's father, Moshe, saw the New York protests as proof of why the exhibition must keep traveling. "They don't want to know," he said of those who deny what happened. "But it's not that they cannot learn." London is the tenth city. It will not be the last.
Police vans lined the street outside an east London building on opening day. Officers in high-visibility jackets moved methodically along the pavement. Security personnel in dark suits, earpieces visible, watched everyone who approached. The location had been kept secret until morning—a precaution that spoke to the weight of what waited inside.
This was not a state visit or diplomatic event requiring such vigilance. It was an exhibition about a music festival. On October 7, 2023, 378 people were killed at the Nova festival in southern Israel. Another 44 were taken hostage. Nineteen of those hostages died in captivity in Gaza. The exhibition that opened to the public in Shoreditch on Wednesday exists to document what happened that day, in meticulous, unavoidable detail.
When the same exhibition traveled to New York, hundreds of protesters gathered in Lower Manhattan. Some called it propaganda. Some denied the scale of what occurred. Elkana Bohbot, who helped organize the original festival and spent 738 days as a hostage—690 of them in a tunnel beneath Gaza—made a simple request to anyone planning to demonstrate in London: "Come in for one minute. Not an hour but just one minute. Come inside." He was 36 now, visibly marked by what he had endured. The exhibition, he believed, could speak for itself.
The show moves through rooms designed to immerse visitors in the sequence of events. It begins with a three-minute film of dancers in the early morning light, speaking of joy and beauty. Then comes the moment the DJ was told to stop the music. "Red alert, red alert," the crowd heard. The next room is dark, loud, chaotic. Burned-out cars sit beside shot-through toilet cubicles. Audio recordings play of people hiding under bushes, forced into long marches toward safety. One recording captures a Hamas attacker calling his father, boasting that he had killed "10 Jews with my own hands" and was using the phone of a woman he had murdered along with her husband.
One exhibit shows CCTV footage from outside a bomb shelter near the festival grounds. A young man appears on screen throwing grenades back out as they are lobbed inside. His name was Aner Shapiro. He was 22, a British-Israeli citizen and off-duty soldier who had come to dance with friends. Inside the shelter, designed to hold eight people, 27 had crowded in. Shapiro told them his name, told them he was a soldier, told them not to be afraid. "You'll be OK," he said. "I will protect you." He threw out as many as 11 grenades before an RPG struck him, followed by more explosions. A shot to the head killed him. His parents, Moshe and Shira, both 55 and 50, learned every detail of his final moments through phone footage, firsthand accounts, and that CCTV. Five of the 16 people in the shelter were taken hostage. One was shot immediately. Three returned alive from Gaza.
Jake Marlowe was 26, working as an unarmed security guard at the festival. His parents, Lisa and Michael, from north London, last spoke to him at 4:30 in the morning on October 7. Michael thought his son was calling to ask for money again. Instead, Jake said: "I love you. And I'll keep in touch. There's a lot of commotion going on, there are paragliders in the air. I'll call you back when it's all calmed down." He never called back. Michael had to identify his son's body in a morgue in Israel. "It is important for everyone to see the exhibition," Michael said. "We are not lying."
Moshe Shapiro, Aner's father, saw the New York protests as evidence of why the exhibition must travel to more cities, why it must be shown again and again. "They don't want to know," he said of those who deny or minimize what happened. "But it's not that they cannot learn about what happened." The exhibition is in its tenth city. It will not be the last.
Notable Quotes
Come in for one minute. Not an hour but just one minute. Come inside.— Elkana Bohbot, co-organizer of the Nova festival and former hostage
It is important for everyone to see the exhibition. We are not lying.— Michael Marlowe, father of Jake Marlowe, 26, who was killed at the festival
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did they keep the location secret until the morning?
Because when this exhibition was in New York, hundreds of people came to protest. Some called it propaganda. The organizers wanted to open the doors without confrontation, to let the evidence speak first.
What's the most powerful thing in the exhibition?
The CCTV footage of a 22-year-old soldier throwing grenades out of a bomb shelter to protect strangers. His parents watched that footage and could account for every moment of his last thirty minutes alive. That's what the exhibition does—it makes the invisible visible.
But doesn't showing all this footage risk turning trauma into spectacle?
That's the tension at the heart of it. But the organizers argue that denial is worse. When someone walks in and sees a burned-out car, sees the belongings scattered, hears the audio of an attacker bragging to his father—they can't unsee it. They can't claim it didn't happen.
What did Elkana Bohbot ask of the protesters?
Just one minute. Come inside for sixty seconds. He spent 690 days in a tunnel. He knows what it costs to bear witness. He's asking others to do the same, even if only briefly.
How do the parents of the victims experience this?
With a kind of grim clarity. Jake Marlowe's father had to identify his son in a morgue. Now he says: "We are not lying." The exhibition is his testimony. It's all their testimonies, arranged so you cannot look away.