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It unfolded during that morning looking entirely routine. I journeyed together with my loved ones to pick up our new dog. The world appeared secure – then it all shifted.

Glancing at my screen, I discovered reports concerning the frontier. I dialed my mother, hoping for her calm response saying everything was fine. No answer. My dad didn't respond either. Then, I reached my brother – his voice instantly communicated the terrible truth before he explained.

The Unfolding Horror

I've witnessed countless individuals in media reports whose existence were torn apart. Their eyes showing they hadn't yet processed what they'd lost. Now it was me. The floodwaters of horror were overwhelming, amid the destruction was still swirling.

My son glanced toward me over his laptop. I relocated to contact people alone. By the time we got to the city, I saw the brutal execution of my childhood caregiver – almost 80 years old – shown in real-time by the attackers who took over her residence.

I remember thinking: "None of our family would make it."

At some point, I witnessed recordings depicting flames erupting from our family home. Despite this, for days afterward, I refused to accept the building was gone – until my siblings shared with me visual confirmation.

The Consequences

Upon arriving at the station, I contacted the puppy provider. "A war has erupted," I said. "My mother and father are likely gone. Our neighborhood has been taken over by attackers."

The ride back was spent trying to contact loved ones while simultaneously protecting my son from the horrific images that were emerging across platforms.

The scenes during those hours exceeded any possible expectation. Our neighbor's young son captured by armed militants. Someone who taught me driven toward the territory in a vehicle.

Friends sent social media clips that defied reality. An 86-year-old friend similarly captured to Gaza. A young mother and her little boys – boys I knew well – captured by militants, the terror apparent in her expression devastating.

The Long Wait

It seemed endless for help to arrive the kibbutz. Then started the agonizing wait for information. Later that afternoon, a lone picture appeared showing those who made it. My family were not among them.

During the following period, as friends helped forensic teams locate the missing, we searched digital spaces for signs of family members. We witnessed brutality and violence. There was no visual evidence about Dad – no clue regarding his experience.

The Unfolding Truth

Eventually, the situation emerged more fully. My aged family – along with numerous community members – were taken hostage from their home. Dad had reached 83 years, Mom was 85. Amid the terror, a quarter of our community members lost their lives or freedom.

After more than two weeks, my mum emerged from captivity. Before departing, she looked back and shook hands of her captor. "Peace," she said. That image – a simple human connection during indescribable tragedy – was transmitted worldwide.

Over 500 days afterward, my parent's physical presence were returned. He was killed only kilometers from where we lived.

The Persistent Wound

These tragedies and the visual proof remain with me. All subsequent developments – our determined activism to free prisoners, my father's horrific end, the persistent violence, the destruction across the border – has intensified the primary pain.

My family had always been peace activists. My mother still is, like most of my family. We recognize that hostility and vengeance don't offer even momentary relief from our suffering.

I compose these words amid sorrow. With each day, talking about what happened grows harder, rather than simpler. The kids belonging to companions continue imprisoned and the weight of subsequent events is overwhelming.

The Internal Conflict

To myself, I describe focusing on the trauma "immersed in suffering". We typically discussing events to campaign for the captives, though grieving seems unaffordable we cannot afford – and two years later, our work continues.

No part of this story represents endorsement of violence. I continuously rejected this conflict from day one. The residents in the territory experienced pain unimaginably.

I am horrified by leadership actions, while maintaining that the attackers are not peaceful protesters. Having seen their actions on October 7th. They failed their own people – creating suffering for everyone due to their violent beliefs.

The Community Split

Discussing my experience among individuals justifying what happened feels like betraying my dead. My local circle faces unprecedented antisemitism, while my community there has campaigned against its government for two years facing repeated disappointment again and again.

From the border, the destruction in Gaza is visible and emotional. It horrifies me. At the same time, the ethical free pass that numerous people appear to offer to the organizations causes hopelessness.