It began on a morning looking perfectly normal. I rode accompanied by my family to welcome a furry companion. Everything seemed steady – then it all shifted.
Checking my device, I noticed news concerning the frontier. I called my parent, anticipating her reassuring tone explaining everything was fine. No answer. My father didn't respond either. Then, my sibling picked up – his tone instantly communicated the awful reality even as he said anything.
The Developing Tragedy
I've observed countless individuals through news coverage whose lives were torn apart. Their expressions demonstrating they couldn't comprehend their tragedy. Now it was me. The floodwaters of violence were building, and the debris hadn't settled.
My son glanced toward me over his laptop. I shifted to make calls separately. When we reached the city, I would witness the brutal execution of a woman from my past – an elderly woman – shown in real-time by the terrorists who took over her residence.
I remember thinking: "Not one of our friends will survive."
Later, I viewed videos showing fire consuming our house. Despite this, in the following days, I denied the house was destroyed – until my family provided visual confirmation.
The Consequences
Upon arriving at our destination, I called the dog breeder. "A war has begun," I explained. "My parents are likely gone. Our kibbutz has been taken over by terrorists."
The return trip consisted of searching for loved ones while also shielding my child from the terrible visuals that were emerging across platforms.
The footage of that day exceeded all comprehension. Our neighbor's young son taken by multiple terrorists. Someone who taught me taken in the direction of the territory in a vehicle.
Friends sent social media clips that defied reality. An 86-year-old friend likewise abducted into the territory. My friend's daughter and her little boys – kids I recently saw – seized by militants, the terror in her eyes devastating.
The Long Wait
It felt interminable for assistance to reach the area. Then started the terrible uncertainty for news. In the evening, a lone picture appeared depicting escapees. My family weren't there.
During the following period, as friends worked with authorities locate the missing, we scoured online platforms for signs of our loved ones. We encountered torture and mutilation. There was no visual evidence about Dad – no indication regarding his experience.
The Emerging Picture
Over time, the circumstances became clearer. My senior mother and father – together with 74 others – were abducted from the community. Dad had reached 83 years, my mother 85. Amid the terror, 25 percent of the residents were killed or captured.
Over two weeks afterward, my mother was released from captivity. Prior to leaving, she looked back and shook hands of the guard. "Shalom," she said. That image – a basic human interaction amid indescribable tragedy – was transmitted globally.
More than sixteen months later, my father's remains were returned. He died just two miles from the kibbutz.
The Continuing Trauma
These tragedies and the recorded evidence remain with me. All subsequent developments – our urgent efforts to save hostages, Dad's terrible fate, the continuing conflict, the tragedy in the territory – has compounded the primary pain.
My family were lifelong campaigners for reconciliation. Mom continues, similar to other loved ones. We recognize that animosity and retaliation cannot bring the slightest solace from the pain.
I share these thoughts through tears. Over the months, talking about what happened intensifies in challenge, instead of improving. The children from my community remain hostages with the burden of the aftermath feels heavy.
The Personal Struggle
Personally, I describe focusing on the trauma "immersed in suffering". We typically discussing events to fight for the captives, while mourning seems unaffordable we don't have – after 24 months, our efforts continues.
No part of this story is intended as endorsement of violence. I've always been against hostilities from day one. The people across the border have suffered terribly.
I am horrified by leadership actions, while maintaining that the organization cannot be considered benign resistance fighters. Having seen what they did that day. They abandoned the community – causing tragedy on both sides because of their violent beliefs.
The Social Divide
Telling my truth among individuals justifying the attackers' actions seems like betraying my dead. The people around me faces growing prejudice, and our people back home has struggled against its government consistently while experiencing betrayal repeatedly.
Across the fields, the ruin of the territory can be seen and painful. It appalls me. At the same time, the ethical free pass that various individuals appear to offer to the organizations creates discouragement.
