🔗 Share this article

It began on a morning that seemed completely ordinary. I rode accompanied by my family to collect a furry companion. Life felt predictable – until everything changed.

Opening my phone, I saw reports concerning the frontier. I called my mother, expecting her reassuring tone saying they were secure. Silence. My dad was also silent. Then, I reached my brother – his tone immediately revealed the devastating news prior to he said anything.

The Unfolding Nightmare

I've witnessed countless individuals through news coverage whose worlds were destroyed. Their eyes showing they didn't understand their tragedy. Then it became our turn. The floodwaters of horror were building, with the wreckage remained chaotic.

My young one watched me from his screen. I relocated to contact people in private. By the time we arrived the city, I encountered the terrible killing of my childhood caregiver – an elderly woman – shown in real-time by the attackers who took over her home.

I recall believing: "None of our friends would make it."

At some point, I saw footage depicting flames erupting from our residence. Even then, later on, I denied the house was destroyed – not until my siblings provided visual confirmation.

The Consequences

When we reached the city, I called the puppy provider. "Conflict has started," I told them. "My family may not survive. Our kibbutz has been taken over by militants."

The ride back involved attempting to reach friends and family while simultaneously protecting my son from the awful footage that were emerging through networks.

The scenes from that day were beyond anything we could imagine. Our neighbor's young son taken by several attackers. Someone who taught me taken in the direction of the territory in a vehicle.

Individuals circulated digital recordings appearing unbelievable. A senior community member similarly captured to Gaza. A woman I knew accompanied by her children – kids I recently saw – captured by armed terrorists, the fear apparent in her expression devastating.

The Painful Period

It appeared endless for help to arrive the area. Then commenced the terrible uncertainty for information. As time passed, one photograph circulated of survivors. My family were missing.

For days and weeks, as friends worked with authorities identify victims, we combed digital spaces for evidence of those missing. We witnessed atrocities and horrors. We didn't discover recordings showing my parent – no clue about his final moments.

The Developing Reality

Gradually, the circumstances emerged more fully. My aged family – together with numerous community members – were taken hostage from their home. Dad had reached 83 years, my mother 85. In the chaos, one in four of our community members lost their lives or freedom.

Seventeen days later, my parent was released from confinement. As she left, she looked back and grasped the hand of the militant. "Hello," she spoke. That image – a simple human connection within unspeakable violence – was transmitted globally.

Over 500 days following, my parent's physical presence were returned. He was killed just two miles from our home.

The Ongoing Pain

These events and the visual proof still terrorize me. All subsequent developments – our determined activism to free prisoners, my parent's awful death, the continuing conflict, the tragedy in the territory – has worsened the primary pain.

Both my parents remained peace activists. My parent remains, as are many relatives. We recognize that hate and revenge won't provide even momentary relief from our suffering.

I compose these words through tears. Over the months, sharing the experience becomes more difficult, instead of improving. The kids belonging to companions remain hostages and the weight of the aftermath is overwhelming.

The Internal Conflict

In my mind, I term remembering what happened "navigating the pain". We typically sharing our story to campaign for freedom, though grieving remains a luxury we don't have – now, our campaign persists.

Nothing of this story represents endorsement of violence. I continuously rejected this conflict from day one. The population of Gaza endured tragedy terribly.

I am horrified by political choices, while maintaining that the organization cannot be considered benign resistance fighters. Having seen their actions on October 7th. They betrayed the population – causing suffering for everyone through their murderous ideology.

The Social Divide

Discussing my experience among individuals justifying the attackers' actions appears as dishonoring the lost. My local circle experiences growing prejudice, and our people back home has fought versus leadership throughout this period while experiencing betrayal multiple times.

From the border, the destruction in Gaza can be seen and visceral. It appalls me. Meanwhile, the ethical free pass that various individuals seem willing to provide to militant groups makes me despair.