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It began during that morning looking completely ordinary. I journeyed accompanied by my family to welcome our new dog. Life felt predictable – until reality shattered.

Opening my phone, I saw updates from the border. I called my mother, hoping for her calm response explaining they were secure. Nothing. My father couldn't be reached. Next, my sibling picked up – his tone already told me the devastating news even as he spoke.

The Unfolding Horror

I've witnessed so many people on television whose lives were torn apart. Their eyes showing they hadn't yet processed their loss. Suddenly it was us. The torrent of horror were rising, amid the destruction was still swirling.

My young one looked at me across the seat. I relocated to reach out separately. When we got to our destination, I would witness the brutal execution of a woman from my past – almost 80 years old – shown in real-time by the terrorists who seized her home.

I recall believing: "Not a single of our loved ones would make it."

Eventually, I witnessed recordings revealing blazes consuming our house. Despite this, later on, I refused to accept the house was destroyed – before my brothers sent me images and proof.

The Consequences

Getting to our destination, I phoned the dog breeder. "Conflict has begun," I explained. "My parents are probably dead. Our kibbutz fell to by attackers."

The journey home consisted of attempting to reach loved ones while also guarding my young one from the awful footage that spread across platforms.

The images from that day transcended any possible expectation. A 12-year-old neighbor taken by armed militants. My former educator taken in the direction of Gaza using transportation.

Individuals circulated Telegram videos appearing unbelievable. A senior community member similarly captured into the territory. A woman I knew and her little boys – kids I recently saw – being rounded up by armed terrorists, the horror apparent in her expression paralyzing.

The Agonizing Delay

It appeared endless for the military to come the area. Then started the agonizing wait for news. Later that afternoon, a lone picture appeared showing those who made it. My family were missing.

Over many days, as friends helped forensic teams locate the missing, we scoured online platforms for traces of family members. We witnessed torture and mutilation. There was no footage of my father – no indication about his final moments.

The Emerging Picture

Gradually, the reality became clearer. My senior mother and father – along with 74 others – became captives from the community. My parent was in his eighties, my other parent was elderly. In the chaos, 25 percent of our neighbors lost their lives or freedom.

Over two weeks afterward, my mum was released from captivity. Before departing, she turned and offered a handshake of the militant. "Peace," she spoke. That image – a simple human connection within unspeakable violence – was shared globally.

More than sixteen months afterward, Dad's body were recovered. He was killed only kilometers from our home.

The Persistent Wound

These tragedies and the recorded evidence continue to haunt me. All subsequent developments – our determined activism to save hostages, Dad's terrible fate, the ongoing war, the tragedy in the territory – has worsened the primary pain.

Both my parents had always been peace activists. Mom continues, like most of my family. We know that hostility and vengeance don't offer any comfort from our suffering.

I share these thoughts through tears. As time passes, discussing these events becomes more difficult, not easier. The young ones belonging to companions continue imprisoned with the burden of subsequent events is overwhelming.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I term dwelling on these events "immersed in suffering". We're used to discussing events to campaign for hostage release, despite sorrow feels like privilege we don't have – after 24 months, our work continues.

Not one word of this narrative is intended as justification for war. I continuously rejected hostilities since it started. The residents in the territory endured tragedy unimaginably.

I'm appalled by political choices, while maintaining that the militants are not peaceful protesters. Because I know what they did on October 7th. They betrayed the community – causing tragedy on both sides because of their murderous ideology.

The Social Divide

Discussing my experience among individuals justifying the attackers' actions seems like failing the deceased. The people around me experiences unprecedented antisemitism, and our people back home has struggled against its government for two years facing repeated disappointment repeatedly.

Across the fields, the ruin across the frontier can be seen and emotional. It horrifies me. At the same time, the ethical free pass that numerous people appear to offer to militant groups creates discouragement.