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It started during that morning appearing perfectly normal. I was traveling accompanied by my family to collect a new puppy. The world appeared secure – until reality shattered.

Opening my phone, I noticed updates concerning the frontier. I dialed my mum, hoping for her cheerful voice explaining everything was fine. Silence. My parent didn't respond either. Next, I reached my brother – his tone instantly communicated the terrible truth even as he explained.

The Emerging Nightmare

I've observed countless individuals through news coverage whose lives were torn apart. Their eyes revealing they hadn't yet processed their tragedy. Then it became our turn. The deluge of tragedy were rising, amid the destruction remained chaotic.

My son glanced toward me from his screen. I relocated to reach out in private. Once we arrived the city, I saw the terrible killing of my childhood caregiver – a senior citizen – broadcast live by the attackers who captured her residence.

I remember thinking: "Not one of our family will survive."

At some point, I witnessed recordings depicting flames bursting through our family home. Nonetheless, in the following days, I denied the home had burned – before my brothers shared with me visual confirmation.

The Consequences

Upon arriving at the station, I called the dog breeder. "Hostilities has started," I explained. "My parents are probably dead. Our kibbutz was captured by terrorists."

The return trip involved attempting to reach community members while also shielding my child from the horrific images that were emerging through networks.

The scenes from that day exceeded all comprehension. Our neighbor's young son seized by several attackers. Someone who taught me taken in the direction of Gaza using transportation.

People shared Telegram videos appearing unbelievable. A senior community member similarly captured into the territory. A woman I knew accompanied by her children – boys I knew well – captured by militants, the fear visible on her face devastating.

The Agonizing Delay

It appeared to take forever for help to arrive our community. Then commenced the terrible uncertainty for news. In the evening, a single image circulated depicting escapees. My parents were not among them.

For days and weeks, as community members worked with authorities locate the missing, we scoured the internet for evidence of family members. We saw atrocities and horrors. We didn't discover footage of my father – no indication concerning his ordeal.

The Emerging Picture

Eventually, the situation grew more distinct. My elderly parents – along with numerous community members – became captives from our kibbutz. My parent was in his eighties, my mother 85. Amid the terror, 25 percent of our neighbors were killed or captured.

After more than two weeks, my parent emerged from confinement. As she left, she looked back and shook hands of the guard. "Shalom," she spoke. That gesture – an elemental act of humanity amid unspeakable violence – was shared everywhere.

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

The Ongoing Pain

These experiences and their documentation remain with me. The two years since – our desperate campaign to save hostages, my father's horrific end, the persistent violence, the devastation in Gaza – has worsened the initial trauma.

My mother and father were lifelong advocates for peace. Mom continues, like many relatives. We recognize that animosity and retaliation won't provide even momentary relief from our suffering.

I share these thoughts through tears. As time passes, discussing these events intensifies in challenge, not easier. The children from my community continue imprisoned with the burden of subsequent events feels heavy.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I describe dwelling on these events "swimming in the trauma". We've become accustomed sharing our story to fight for the captives, despite sorrow feels like privilege we lack – after 24 months, our efforts persists.

No part of this narrative serves as support for conflict. I continuously rejected hostilities from the beginning. The residents across the border have suffered beyond imagination.

I'm shocked by government decisions, yet emphasizing that the organization shouldn't be viewed as peaceful protesters. Because I know what they did on October 7th. They betrayed their own people – ensuring suffering for everyone due to their murderous ideology.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with those who defend what happened feels like dishonoring the lost. The people around me faces unprecedented antisemitism, while my community there has campaigned with the authorities consistently and been betrayed multiple times.

From the border, the devastation across the frontier appears clearly and visceral. It shocks me. At the same time, the moral carte blanche that various individuals appear to offer to the attackers causes hopelessness.