🔗 Share this article

It began on a morning looking perfectly normal. I was traveling together with my loved ones to collect our new dog. Life felt secure – then it all shifted.

Opening my phone, I discovered reports concerning the frontier. I tried reaching my mum, expecting her calm response saying everything was fine. Silence. My dad was also silent. Afterward, my sibling picked up – his speech immediately revealed the terrible truth before he said anything.

The Emerging Tragedy

I've seen so many people through news coverage whose existence were torn apart. Their eyes demonstrating they couldn't comprehend their tragedy. Now it was me. The torrent of horror were building, amid the destruction hadn't settled.

My child glanced toward me over his laptop. I moved to reach out separately. When we got to the station, I saw the horrific murder of my childhood caregiver – a senior citizen – as it was streamed by the militants who seized her house.

I recall believing: "Not a single of our family will survive."

Later, I viewed videos showing fire erupting from our house. Despite this, in the following days, I couldn't believe the home had burned – before my siblings sent me visual confirmation.

The Consequences

Upon arriving at our destination, I contacted the puppy provider. "A war has started," I told them. "My mother and father are probably dead. Our neighborhood fell to by militants."

The ride back involved searching for community members while also guarding my young one from the horrific images that circulated through networks.

The scenes of that day transcended all comprehension. A child from our community seized by several attackers. My former educator transported to the territory using transportation.

People shared Telegram videos that seemed impossible. An 86-year-old friend likewise abducted into the territory. A young mother and her little boys – children I had played with – seized by militants, the terror in her eyes devastating.

The Agonizing Delay

It felt endless for help to arrive our community. Then began the painful anticipation for updates. As time passed, a single image emerged showing those who made it. My parents weren't there.

For days and weeks, as community members helped forensic teams locate the missing, we combed online platforms for traces of those missing. We saw brutality and violence. There was no visual evidence about Dad – no indication regarding his experience.

The Developing Reality

Over time, the reality emerged more fully. My aged family – along with 74 others – were taken hostage from the community. Dad had reached 83 years, Mom was 85. In the chaos, 25 percent of our neighbors lost their lives or freedom.

After more than two weeks, my parent left confinement. As she left, she looked back and shook hands of her captor. "Shalom," she uttered. That image – a simple human connection within unspeakable violence – was transmitted globally.

Five hundred and two days afterward, my parent's physical presence came back. He was murdered a short distance from the kibbutz.

The Persistent Wound

These experiences and the visual proof remain with me. Everything that followed – our desperate campaign to save hostages, my parent's awful death, the persistent violence, the devastation in Gaza – has compounded the original wound.

Both my parents remained campaigners for reconciliation. Mom continues, as are other loved ones. We know that hate and revenge don't offer any comfort from this tragedy.

I share these thoughts amid sorrow. As time passes, discussing these events intensifies in challenge, instead of improving. The children of my friends are still captive along with the pressure of subsequent events feels heavy.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I term focusing on the trauma "navigating the pain". We typically sharing our story to advocate for the captives, despite sorrow seems unaffordable we lack – and two years later, our work continues.

Not one word of this narrative represents justification for war. I've always been against the fighting from day one. The population across the border have suffered beyond imagination.

I'm shocked by political choices, while maintaining that the organization are not benign resistance fighters. Since I witnessed their atrocities during those hours. They betrayed the population – causing suffering for everyone due to their murderous ideology.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with people supporting what happened seems like dishonoring the lost. My community here experiences rising hostility, and our people back home has fought versus leadership throughout this period facing repeated disappointment again and again.

Looking over, the ruin in Gaza appears clearly and emotional. It shocks me. At the same time, the ethical free pass that various individuals appear to offer to militant groups creates discouragement.