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It began on a morning looking completely ordinary. I was traveling together with my loved ones to welcome our new dog. Everything seemed steady – before everything changed.

Opening my phone, I saw reports about the border region. I dialed my mother, anticipating her cheerful voice saying everything was fine. Silence. My dad was also silent. Then, my brother answered – his voice instantly communicated the terrible truth even as he explained.

The Unfolding Horror

I've observed so many people on television whose existence were destroyed. Their expressions revealing they didn't understand their tragedy. Now it was me. The torrent of horror were overwhelming, and the debris was still swirling.

My young one looked at me from his screen. I moved to reach out alone. When we reached the station, I saw the brutal execution of someone who cared for me – almost 80 years old – shown in real-time by the militants who took over her home.

I thought to myself: "None of our family could live through this."

At some point, I witnessed recordings depicting flames consuming our residence. Nonetheless, in the following days, I denied the building was gone – until my brothers shared with me images and proof.

The Consequences

Upon arriving at our destination, I called the dog breeder. "A war has started," I told them. "My mother and father may not survive. Our neighborhood was captured by militants."

The return trip was spent searching for friends and family while simultaneously guarding my young one from the terrible visuals that circulated everywhere.

The images during those hours exceeded anything we could imagine. A child from our community seized by multiple terrorists. My mathematics teacher driven toward the territory on a golf cart.

Individuals circulated digital recordings appearing unbelievable. My mother's elderly companion also taken into the territory. A young mother with her two small sons – kids I recently saw – being rounded up by attackers, the horror in her eyes devastating.

The Agonizing Delay

It felt endless for the military to come the area. Then started the terrible uncertainty for updates. Later that afternoon, a single image emerged depicting escapees. My parents weren't there.

Over many days, as friends helped forensic teams identify victims, we scoured digital spaces for traces of family members. We encountered torture and mutilation. We didn't discover recordings showing my parent – no clue concerning his ordeal.

The Unfolding Truth

Gradually, the situation grew more distinct. My aged family – together with 74 others – became captives from their home. My parent was in his eighties, Mom was 85. Amid the terror, a quarter of our community members were murdered or abducted.

Seventeen days later, my parent left confinement. Prior to leaving, she turned and grasped the hand of her captor. "Peace," she spoke. That image – an elemental act of humanity during unspeakable violence – was transmitted worldwide.

Over 500 days following, my parent's physical presence came back. He was murdered just two miles from the kibbutz.

The Ongoing Pain

These tragedies and the recorded evidence continue to haunt me. All subsequent developments – our urgent efforts for the captives, my parent's awful death, the persistent violence, the tragedy in the territory – has compounded the initial trauma.

Both my parents remained advocates for peace. My mother still is, as are most of my family. We recognize that hostility and vengeance won't provide even momentary relief from this tragedy.

I compose these words amid sorrow. With each day, talking about what happened grows harder, rather than simpler. The young ones belonging to companions are still captive and the weight of what followed feels heavy.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I describe dwelling on these events "navigating the pain". We're used to telling our experience to fight for the captives, though grieving remains a luxury we cannot afford – after 24 months, our campaign persists.

No part of this story represents justification for war. I continuously rejected hostilities since it started. The population in the territory experienced pain terribly.

I'm shocked by political choices, while maintaining that the organization are not benign resistance fighters. Since I witnessed what they did on October 7th. They betrayed their own people – creating pain for all through their deadly philosophy.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with people supporting the attackers' actions feels like dishonoring the lost. My local circle experiences unprecedented antisemitism, meanwhile our kibbutz has struggled versus leadership throughout this period while experiencing betrayal multiple times.

From the border, the devastation across the frontier can be seen and visceral. It horrifies me. Meanwhile, the ethical free pass that various individuals appear to offer to militant groups causes hopelessness.