🔗 Share this article

It started on a morning that seemed completely ordinary. I journeyed accompanied by my family to welcome our new dog. Everything seemed predictable – until it all shifted.

Checking my device, I discovered reports from the border. I tried reaching my parent, hoping for her cheerful voice telling me everything was fine. No answer. My parent didn't respond either. Then, my sibling picked up – his voice instantly communicated the awful reality even as he said anything.

The Emerging Horror

I've observed countless individuals in media reports whose worlds were destroyed. Their expressions demonstrating they couldn't comprehend their tragedy. Suddenly it was us. The deluge of violence were rising, and the debris hadn't settled.

My child glanced toward me across the seat. I relocated to contact people separately. When we arrived the city, I encountered the horrific murder of my childhood caregiver – a senior citizen – as it was streamed by the attackers who took over her house.

I thought to myself: "Not one of our friends could live through this."

Eventually, I saw footage showing fire consuming our house. Nonetheless, later on, I refused to accept the building was gone – before my brothers shared with me visual confirmation.

The Aftermath

Getting to the station, I contacted the dog breeder. "Hostilities has started," I explained. "My mother and father are likely gone. My community fell to by terrorists."

The journey home consisted of searching for loved ones while simultaneously protecting my son from the terrible visuals that circulated across platforms.

The footage from that day exceeded any possible expectation. Our neighbor's young son captured by multiple terrorists. Someone who taught me taken in the direction of the border using transportation.

People shared Telegram videos that defied reality. An 86-year-old friend likewise abducted into the territory. A young mother accompanied by her children – kids I recently saw – seized by militants, the terror visible on her face stunning.

The Long Wait

It seemed to take forever for help to arrive the area. Then began the agonizing wait for updates. In the evening, a single image appeared depicting escapees. My mother and father were not among them.

During the following period, while neighbors helped forensic teams identify victims, we scoured online platforms for signs of family members. We witnessed atrocities and horrors. We didn't discover recordings showing my parent – no clue concerning his ordeal.

The Developing Reality

Eventually, the circumstances grew more distinct. My elderly parents – as well as 74 others – were taken hostage from their home. My father was 83, my other parent was elderly. Amid the terror, one in four of the residents were killed or captured.

Over two weeks afterward, my mum left captivity. Before departing, she glanced behind and grasped the hand of the militant. "Hello," she uttered. That image – a simple human connection during unspeakable violence – was broadcast globally.

More than sixteen months afterward, Dad's body were returned. He was murdered just two miles from our home.

The Continuing Trauma

These tragedies and the recorded evidence still terrorize me. Everything that followed – our desperate campaign to save hostages, my parent's awful death, the ongoing war, the tragedy in the territory – has compounded the original wound.

Both my parents had always been advocates for peace. My parent remains, like most of my family. We understand that hate and revenge won't provide the slightest solace from this tragedy.

I share these thoughts through tears. Over the months, talking about what happened becomes more difficult, rather than simpler. The young ones of my friends remain hostages and the weight of subsequent events is overwhelming.

The Individual Battle

In my mind, I term focusing on the trauma "swimming in the trauma". We've become accustomed sharing our story to fight for the captives, while mourning seems unaffordable we lack – now, our efforts endures.

Nothing of this story serves as endorsement of violence. I have consistently opposed the fighting since it started. The people across the border experienced pain terribly.

I'm shocked by leadership actions, but I also insist that the organization are not innocent activists. Since I witnessed their actions on October 7th. They abandoned the community – causing tragedy on both sides due to their violent beliefs.

The Social Divide

Discussing my experience among individuals justifying what happened seems like dishonoring the lost. My community here faces rising hostility, meanwhile our kibbutz has struggled with the authorities consistently while experiencing betrayal repeatedly.

Across the fields, the devastation in Gaza can be seen and emotional. It appalls me. Meanwhile, the complete justification that various individuals seem to grant to militant groups causes hopelessness.