🔗 Share this article

It began that morning looking perfectly normal. I was traveling together with my loved ones to pick up our new dog. The world appeared secure – before it all shifted.

Glancing at my screen, I noticed news concerning the frontier. I called my parent, expecting her calm response explaining they were secure. No answer. My parent couldn't be reached. Next, my brother answered – his speech immediately revealed the awful reality prior to he spoke.

The Developing Horror

I've observed countless individuals on television whose existence were torn apart. Their expressions demonstrating they hadn't yet processed their loss. Suddenly it was us. The deluge of horror were rising, with the wreckage remained chaotic.

My young one watched me from his screen. I moved to reach out in private. Once we arrived the station, I saw the terrible killing of someone who cared for me – an elderly woman – as it was streamed by the militants who captured her residence.

I recall believing: "Not one of our friends will survive."

At some point, I saw footage revealing blazes consuming our house. Despite this, later on, I couldn't believe the building was gone – before my siblings shared with me photographs and evidence.

The Consequences

When we reached our destination, I contacted the puppy provider. "Hostilities has started," I told them. "My mother and father are likely gone. My community fell to by terrorists."

The ride back was spent attempting to reach friends and family and at the same time shielding my child from the awful footage that spread through networks.

The images during those hours exceeded any possible expectation. A child from our community captured by armed militants. My mathematics teacher transported to the border on a golf cart.

Friends sent digital recordings that defied reality. My mother's elderly companion also taken to Gaza. My friend's daughter accompanied by her children – kids I recently saw – captured by attackers, the horror visible on her face stunning.

The Painful Period

It seemed to take forever for assistance to reach our community. Then started the terrible uncertainty for information. Later that afternoon, a lone picture emerged depicting escapees. My mother and father weren't there.

During the following period, as friends worked with authorities locate the missing, we searched digital spaces for traces of those missing. We encountered brutality and violence. We never found recordings showing my parent – no clue about his final moments.

The Emerging Picture

Gradually, the situation emerged more fully. My elderly parents – together with dozens more – were taken hostage from their home. Dad had reached 83 years, my mother 85. In the chaos, 25 percent of our community members were murdered or abducted.

Over two weeks afterward, my parent left captivity. As she left, she glanced behind and offered a handshake of the guard. "Shalom," she said. That image – a simple human connection within indescribable tragedy – was broadcast worldwide.

More than sixteen months later, my parent's physical presence were returned. He was killed a short distance from the kibbutz.

The Persistent Wound

These experiences and the recorded evidence continue to haunt me. Everything that followed – our desperate campaign to save hostages, my parent's awful death, the continuing conflict, the devastation in Gaza – has compounded the original wound.

Both my parents were lifelong campaigners for reconciliation. Mom continues, like most of my family. We recognize that animosity and retaliation don't offer any comfort from the pain.

I share these thoughts while crying. As time passes, talking about what happened grows harder, not easier. The kids belonging to companions are still captive along with the pressure of the aftermath remains crushing.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I term focusing on the trauma "swimming in the trauma". We typically telling our experience to advocate for freedom, despite sorrow feels like privilege we don't have – after 24 months, our efforts endures.

Nothing of this account represents support for conflict. I've always been against this conflict from the beginning. The population across the border experienced pain unimaginably.

I'm shocked by government decisions, yet emphasizing that the organization shouldn't be viewed as benign resistance fighters. Having seen their atrocities on October 7th. They betrayed their own people – creating tragedy on both sides because of their deadly philosophy.

The Social Divide

Sharing my story with people supporting what happened appears as betraying my dead. My community here faces unprecedented antisemitism, and our people back home has campaigned versus leadership consistently while experiencing betrayal multiple times.

Across the fields, the destruction in Gaza appears clearly and visceral. It appalls me. Simultaneously, the complete justification that numerous people seem to grant to the attackers causes hopelessness.