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It unfolded that morning appearing perfectly normal. I was traveling together with my loved ones to collect a new puppy. The world appeared steady – then everything changed.

Opening my phone, I saw reports about the border region. I tried reaching my mum, hoping for her calm response explaining they were secure. No answer. My dad was also silent. Next, my brother answered – his voice immediately revealed the awful reality even as he spoke.

The Unfolding Horror

I've seen numerous faces in media reports whose worlds were torn apart. Their gaze showing they hadn't yet processed their tragedy. Now it was me. The torrent of violence were building, with the wreckage hadn't settled.

My young one watched me across the seat. I shifted to reach out separately. By the time we arrived the city, I saw the terrible killing of my childhood caregiver – a senior citizen – shown in real-time by the terrorists who captured her house.

I thought to myself: "None of our friends would make it."

Eventually, I saw footage revealing blazes bursting through our house. Even then, later on, I denied the house was destroyed – before my brothers shared with me photographs and evidence.

The Consequences

Upon arriving at the city, I contacted the dog breeder. "Hostilities has begun," I told them. "My parents are probably dead. Our neighborhood was captured by terrorists."

The journey home was spent trying to contact loved ones and at the same time protecting my son from the terrible visuals that circulated through networks.

The images during those hours were beyond anything we could imagine. Our neighbor's young son taken by multiple terrorists. My mathematics teacher taken in the direction of the border in a vehicle.

People shared digital recordings appearing unbelievable. An 86-year-old friend similarly captured into the territory. My friend's daughter accompanied by her children – children I had played with – captured by attackers, the terror apparent in her expression stunning.

The Painful Period

It felt endless for help to arrive the area. Then commenced the terrible uncertainty for updates. Later that afternoon, a lone picture circulated depicting escapees. My family were missing.

During the following period, while neighbors worked with authorities document losses, we searched online platforms for signs of family members. We saw atrocities and horrors. We never found recordings showing my parent – no clue regarding his experience.

The Emerging Picture

Eventually, the situation grew more distinct. My elderly parents – along with dozens more – were abducted from their home. My father was 83, my other parent was elderly. Amid the terror, 25 percent of the residents were killed or captured.

Seventeen days later, my mother was released from imprisonment. As she left, she looked back and offered a handshake of the militant. "Shalom," she spoke. That gesture – a simple human connection within unimaginable horror – was shared everywhere.

Five hundred and two days later, my parent's physical presence were recovered. He was killed just two miles from the kibbutz.

The Ongoing Pain

These events and the recorded evidence continue to haunt me. The two years since – our determined activism to save hostages, my father's horrific end, the ongoing war, the tragedy in the territory – has worsened the initial trauma.

My mother and father remained peace activists. Mom continues, similar to most of my family. We understand that hate and revenge cannot bring the slightest solace from our suffering.

I write this while crying. Over the months, sharing the experience intensifies in challenge, rather than simpler. The kids of my friends continue imprisoned and the weight of what followed remains crushing.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I call focusing on the trauma "swimming in the trauma". We typically discussing events to fight for the captives, despite sorrow seems unaffordable we lack – after 24 months, our campaign continues.

Not one word of this story serves as endorsement of violence. I continuously rejected this conflict from the beginning. The population in the territory have suffered beyond imagination.

I am horrified by government decisions, while maintaining that the attackers are not peaceful protesters. Since I witnessed their atrocities on October 7th. They failed the community – ensuring suffering for everyone through their deadly philosophy.

The Personal Isolation

Discussing my experience with people supporting what happened seems like betraying my dead. My community here faces unprecedented antisemitism, while my community there has fought versus leadership throughout this period and been betrayed again and again.

Looking over, the destruction across the frontier appears clearly and painful. It shocks me. Meanwhile, the complete justification that numerous people seem willing to provide to the organizations creates discouragement.