“A Place at the Table” is a commemorative project that documents the favorite dishes of those lost on October 7 with the help of their families.
This isn’t the first time since October 7 that Shelly Meshel-Yogev has made her daughter Libby’s salad in her memory. She’s prepared it a few times already, but she admits she can’t bring herself to make it just for a regular family meal. The thought of that roasted sweet potato and black lentil salad sitting on the table, without Libby there to eat it, is unimaginable to her. But to honor Libby’ her sun, she’ll do whatever it takes.
“Libby loved to eat,” Shelly says. “She could smell food from far away, she dreamed about food, she thought about food all the time. But one of the things she loved most was the sweet potato black lentil salad. If she was invited to a meal with friends where everyone brought a dish, she always brought her lentil salad. It became known as Libby’s salad.”
Libby Cohen Meguri was born in 2001 to Shelly and Ilan. She was Tomer’s twin sister and the older sister of Maya. Her mother describes her as a ray of sunshine, joyful, full of light, with a contagious, rolling laugh. That’s why the family nickname that stuck was “Sun.” From a young age, she loved sports. While her friends were taking ballet classes, Libby was competing in taekwondo and later took up horseback riding, which she continued until she enlisted in the army.
In the army, Libby served as an operations sergeant and quickly moved on to officer training. “She was a compassionate and giving officer,” says Shelly, recalling the lone soldiers who ended up staying in their home during Libby’s service, sometimes for months at a time. After she was discharged, Libby traveled through South America for seven months. She returned home by surprise, full of longing, just in time to celebrate Rosh Hashanah with her family. She had only three weeks with them.
At 6:30 in the morning on October 7, Libby called her mother and her mother’s husband, Professor Yariv Yogev, to let them know there were sirens at the Nova music festival where she was. They told her to get in the car with her friend, Adi Maizel, and drive away. About an hour and a half later, she called again and said the police had blocked the road. “While we were still on the phone, she sent us her location, and we directed them toward Route 232, which turned out to be a death trap,” Shelly recalls of that dark day. At 8:11, Libby called one last time. She said Adi had been shot in the head, that she herself had been shot in the stomach and arm, and that she was going to die.
In the final eight minutes they had with her, Libby was the only one who understood that it was time to say goodbye, says Shelly. “She spoke quietly and only asked to say her goodbyes.” While Shelly was in a panic and Yariv tried to instruct Libby on how to make a tourniquet and take control of the car, Libby insisted that they just listen and let her say farewell to her family with words of love.
“She said goodbye to Yariv, then to me: ‘Mom, you’re the best mother I could’ve asked for.’ To Tomer, her twin brother, she told him how much she loved him and how lucky she felt to have lived her whole life by his side. Then she said goodbye to Maya, her little sister.” Yariv instructed her to get out of the car, lie down on the road, and pretend to be dead. She managed to get out, placed the phone under her ear, and then fell silent. They heard her whisper, “Mom, they’re coming to shoot me again,” before the voices of the terrorists shouting in Arabic came through, followed by a long burst of gunfire, and then silence. Both friends, who had gone to the party together, were murdered.
Since then, Shelly has devoted her life to preserving her daughter’s memory. “Being a mother to Maya and Tomer is something I have to do, they’re here. But if being Libby’s mother now means I have to work, then I will,” she says, as she takes the orange sweet potato cubes out of the pan and adds them to a bowl of black lentils and fresh herbs. “I wake up every morning to do this work, to be a mother to all of them. That’s what commemoration means. That’s everything. My whole world, my whole life, is about keeping her here. Because I’m not willing to say goodbye to her again.”
For the family, commemorating Libby means everything. They run a memorial page on Instagram, where they share stories, photos, and memories of her. All they ask is that you follow Libby and remember her. Let’s help make sure Libby is never forgotten. @libby.cohen.meguri
Did you prepare the dish? Share a photo of it and tag it #A_Place_at_the_Table to honor the memory of the late Libby Cohen Meguri.
1 cup black lentils
½ teaspoon cumin
1 sweet potato, peeled and cut into 1cm (½-in cubes)
1 large tomato, finely diced
1 red onion, finely chopped
1 bunch cilantro, finely chopped
For the dressing:
2-3 garlic cloves, crushed
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 lemon, juiced
- Cook the lentils: Place the lentils and cumin in a pot, cover with plenty of water, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 15–18 minutes, until just tender but still slightly firm. Drain, drizzle with a little olive oil, and season lightly with salt.
- Prepare the sweet potato: Preheat the oven to 180°C (350°F). Spread the diced sweet potato evenly on a baking tray lined with parchment paper. Drizzle with olive oil, season with salt and black pepper, and roast for 20–30 minutes, until golden and tender. Flip halfway through for even browning.
- In a large bowl, combine the lentils, roasted sweet potato, tomato, red onion, and cilantro.
- Make the dressing: Mix the crushed garlic with salt, black pepper, lemon juice, and olive oil. Pour over the salad and toss well. Adjust seasoning to taste and serve warm.
* This recipe remains faithful to the original from the family. No modifications were made.
