🔗 Share this article

It began during that morning that seemed entirely routine. I journeyed together with my loved ones to welcome a furry companion. The world appeared secure – until it all shifted.

Checking my device, I discovered news about the border region. I dialed my mum, expecting her calm response explaining she was safe. No answer. My dad didn't respond either. Next, I reached my brother – his tone already told me the awful reality prior to he said anything.

The Emerging Nightmare

I've seen numerous faces on television whose existence were destroyed. Their gaze revealing they didn't understand what they'd lost. Suddenly it was us. The deluge of violence were building, amid the destruction was still swirling.

My son looked at me across the seat. I moved to reach out alone. Once we got to our destination, I encountered the horrific murder of someone who cared for me – an elderly woman – shown in real-time by the terrorists who took over her house.

I remember thinking: "None of our friends will survive."

At some point, I viewed videos revealing blazes erupting from our residence. Even then, for days afterward, I couldn't believe the house was destroyed – until my siblings sent me photographs and evidence.

The Consequences

Getting to our destination, I phoned the kennel owner. "A war has started," I said. "My family may not survive. Our neighborhood was captured by terrorists."

The return trip consisted of searching for friends and family while simultaneously protecting my son from the awful footage that were emerging across platforms.

The scenes of that day transcended any possible expectation. A 12-year-old neighbor seized by multiple terrorists. My mathematics teacher taken in the direction of the border in a vehicle.

Friends sent social media clips appearing unbelievable. A senior community member also taken into the territory. A woman I knew accompanied by her children – children I had played with – seized by militants, the fear visible on her face devastating.

The Agonizing Delay

It seemed endless for help to arrive the area. Then began the agonizing wait for updates. Later that afternoon, a lone picture emerged of survivors. My family were not among them.

During the following period, while neighbors assisted investigators identify victims, we combed digital spaces for evidence of those missing. We encountered brutality and violence. There was no recordings showing my parent – no indication about his final moments.

The Emerging Picture

Gradually, the situation became clearer. My aged family – together with dozens more – were abducted from our kibbutz. My father was 83, my mother 85. During the violence, one in four of the residents were murdered or abducted.

After more than two weeks, my parent was released from imprisonment. As she left, she turned and offered a handshake of her captor. "Shalom," she said. That moment – a basic human interaction during unspeakable violence – was shared worldwide.

Over 500 days following, my father's remains came back. He was murdered just two miles from where we lived.

The Continuing Trauma

These events and the recorded evidence still terrorize me. The two years since – our determined activism to free prisoners, Dad's terrible fate, the continuing conflict, the devastation in Gaza – has intensified the primary pain.

Both my parents had always been advocates for peace. My parent remains, like other loved ones. We know that hate and revenge don't offer even momentary relief from our suffering.

I compose these words through tears. Over the months, talking about what happened becomes more difficult, instead of improving. The children from my community remain hostages along with the pressure of the aftermath remains crushing.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I call dwelling on these events "immersed in suffering". We typically telling our experience to advocate for hostage release, though grieving remains a luxury we don't have – now, our campaign continues.

Nothing of this narrative is intended as endorsement of violence. I've always been against this conflict since it started. The population across the border endured tragedy unimaginably.

I'm shocked by government decisions, but I also insist that the organization cannot be considered benign resistance fighters. Since I witnessed their atrocities on October 7th. They abandoned the population – ensuring tragedy on both sides through their deadly philosophy.

The Social Divide

Telling my truth with those who defend what happened seems like betraying my dead. The people around me confronts unprecedented antisemitism, and our people back home has struggled versus leadership for two years and been betrayed multiple times.

Looking over, the devastation across the frontier appears clearly and painful. It appalls me. Simultaneously, the moral carte blanche that various individuals seem to grant to militant groups creates discouragement.