No way to run from Nova

Once the first few waves of shock and nausea had passed, I began receiving messages that read, “Thank G-d you weren’t there!”

Though I’m far from the only one to receive a message like that, I guess the chance that I might have been at the Nova festival was higher than others.

I had only recently returned from a three-month trip to Israel, where my heart had most-certainly remained behind. Having grown up in a country where accessibility is an afterthought to the afterthought, Israel’s purposely-built plethora of ramps, wheelchair-friendly transport, and consistent curb-cuts served as a balm to those like myself who have felt forgotten about in an “ableist” world. I’ve often said that being in Israel was the first time in my life that I had felt like a completely regular, accepted member of society, as opposed to the typical frustration of being “othered”.

And I love music festivals. Yes, I, in my battery-powered wheelchair, love festivals.

I love the experience of freedom that festivals so often possess – dancing because the music vibrates within you, and singing with strangers who you may never see again but who in that moment are both the recipient and source of your energy. It’s about connecting with others who share a passion, where differences aren’t seen as barriers, and you are encouraged to be exactly who you are.

Thus, the chance that I would have been in the wrong place at the wrong time that fateful October morning was higher than others.

And yet, even now, I question what I would have done if I had been there.

I wouldn’t have managed to run into an underground shelter. I wouldn’t have been able to make myself as small as possible to hide behind some structure. I wouldn’t have even been able to play dead on the ground in the hope that I might be overlooked by the cold-blooded murders with darkness in their veins.

Those far smarter and more capable than me did all those things, and weren’t spared.

They happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – at a music festival where diversity is embraced, where music is a common language, and where someone in a wheelchair doesn’t feel like an outsider.

While every one of us has probably thought about what they would have done had it been them, I know it could well have been me. I know I wouldn’t have been able to hide, and I know that I would have been seen by those callous monsters as a liability.

It serves as a brutal reminder that those filled with such cruelty couldn’t care less about nationality; religion; race; age; parental status; or physical ability.

People still tell me that the possibility of me being at Nova was one of their initial thoughts, despite the fact that I was 7 000km away at the time. It’s a place where I would have felt embraced, where I would have danced enthusiastically because I was just like everybody else who was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

• Sasha Star is a radio, television, and print journalist. Her “driven” personality and consistent curiosity means that despite being in a wheelchair, she’s often too busy to sit down.