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It started during that morning looking entirely routine. I was traveling together with my loved ones to welcome a furry companion. Life felt predictable – then everything changed.

Checking my device, I saw news concerning the frontier. I tried reaching my parent, expecting her reassuring tone saying they were secure. Silence. My dad couldn't be reached. Afterward, I reached my brother – his voice already told me the devastating news before he spoke.

The Developing Horror

I've observed numerous faces in media reports whose lives were torn apart. Their expressions demonstrating they couldn't comprehend their tragedy. Then it became our turn. The deluge of violence were building, with the wreckage was still swirling.

My child looked at me across the seat. I relocated to contact people in private. Once we arrived the station, I would witness the horrific murder of someone who cared for me – almost 80 years old – shown in real-time by the terrorists who captured her residence.

I remember thinking: "None of our loved ones will survive."

Later, I saw footage showing fire consuming our family home. Despite this, for days afterward, I couldn't believe the house was destroyed – until my brothers provided images and proof.

The Consequences

Getting to our destination, I contacted the puppy provider. "Conflict has started," I said. "My parents are likely gone. Our kibbutz fell to by terrorists."

The journey home was spent searching for community members while simultaneously guarding my young one from the horrific images that circulated across platforms.

The images of that day were beyond any possible expectation. A child from our community captured by several attackers. My former educator driven toward the territory in a vehicle.

Friends sent Telegram videos appearing unbelievable. An 86-year-old friend similarly captured to Gaza. A young mother and her little boys – kids I recently saw – captured by armed terrorists, the fear visible on her face devastating.

The Painful Period

It appeared endless for the military to come the kibbutz. Then started the agonizing wait for news. Later that afternoon, a lone picture circulated of survivors. My family weren't there.

For days and weeks, as friends assisted investigators document losses, we searched the internet for evidence of family members. We saw brutality and violence. We never found visual evidence about Dad – no clue regarding his experience.

The Unfolding Truth

Over time, the circumstances became clearer. My aged family – as well as numerous community members – were taken hostage from our kibbutz. My father was 83, my mother 85. During the violence, one in four of our community members were murdered or abducted.

After more than two weeks, my mum emerged from imprisonment. Before departing, she turned and grasped the hand of the guard. "Peace," she said. That moment – an elemental act of humanity amid unimaginable horror – was transmitted globally.

Over 500 days following, my parent's physical presence were recovered. He died a short distance from where we lived.

The Ongoing Pain

These tragedies and the recorded evidence remain with me. All subsequent developments – our desperate campaign to free prisoners, my parent's awful death, the persistent violence, the destruction across the border – has intensified the original wound.

My mother and father were lifelong advocates for peace. My mother still is, like other loved ones. We understand that hostility and vengeance don't offer any comfort from our suffering.

I share these thoughts through tears. Over the months, sharing the experience intensifies in challenge, not easier. The children of my friends continue imprisoned with the burden of the aftermath remains crushing.

The Individual Battle

In my mind, I describe remembering what happened "swimming in the trauma". We typically telling our experience to campaign for freedom, despite sorrow seems unaffordable we cannot afford – and two years later, our work endures.

Not one word of this account serves as endorsement of violence. I've always been against hostilities since it started. The people in the territory experienced pain unimaginably.

I'm shocked by government decisions, while maintaining that the organization cannot be considered innocent activists. Because I know their atrocities on October 7th. They abandoned their own people – causing suffering for everyone through their murderous ideology.

The Personal Isolation

Telling my truth with people supporting what happened appears as dishonoring the lost. My community here confronts growing prejudice, and our people back home has campaigned against its government consistently facing repeated disappointment multiple times.

Across the fields, the destruction of the territory can be seen and emotional. It shocks me. At the same time, the complete justification that various individuals seem to grant to militant groups creates discouragement.