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It unfolded on a morning appearing entirely routine. I was traveling with my husband and son to welcome a new puppy. Everything seemed secure – then reality shattered.

Checking my device, I discovered updates concerning the frontier. I tried reaching my mother, hoping for her cheerful voice saying everything was fine. No answer. My parent was also silent. Afterward, my sibling picked up – his tone immediately revealed the devastating news even as he said anything.

The Unfolding Tragedy

I've witnessed so many people in media reports whose lives had collapsed. Their expressions revealing they didn't understand their tragedy. Now it was me. The torrent of horror were rising, with the wreckage hadn't settled.

My child looked at me over his laptop. I shifted to contact people in private. When we reached the station, I would witness the terrible killing of my childhood caregiver – an elderly woman – as it was streamed by the attackers who seized her home.

I remember thinking: "Not a single of our loved ones could live through this."

Eventually, I viewed videos revealing blazes bursting through our house. Even then, later on, I denied the building was gone – before my brothers shared with me photographs and evidence.

The Fallout

When we reached the station, I contacted the dog breeder. "Conflict has erupted," I told them. "My mother and father may not survive. Our kibbutz fell to by militants."

The ride back was spent searching for loved ones while simultaneously protecting my son from the horrific images that circulated across platforms.

The images from that day transcended any possible expectation. Our neighbor's young son captured by several attackers. My mathematics teacher taken in the direction of the territory using transportation.

Individuals circulated social media clips appearing unbelievable. A senior community member likewise abducted to Gaza. A woman I knew with her two small sons – boys I knew well – captured by armed terrorists, the fear visible on her face stunning.

The Agonizing Delay

It appeared endless for help to arrive our community. Then began the agonizing wait for updates. As time passed, a single image circulated depicting escapees. My mother and father were missing.

Over many days, while neighbors helped forensic teams locate the missing, we combed digital spaces for traces of those missing. We witnessed atrocities and horrors. We didn't discover footage of my father – no clue concerning his ordeal.

The Developing Reality

Over time, the situation emerged more fully. My senior mother and father – along with dozens more – were abducted from their home. Dad had reached 83 years, Mom was 85. During the violence, one in four of the residents lost their lives or freedom.

After more than two weeks, my parent was released from confinement. As she left, she glanced behind and offered a handshake of her captor. "Peace," she said. That moment – a simple human connection amid unimaginable horror – was shared globally.

Five hundred and two days following, Dad's body were recovered. He was murdered a short distance from the kibbutz.

The Ongoing Pain

These experiences and the visual proof continue to haunt me. All subsequent developments – our desperate campaign to free prisoners, my father's horrific end, the persistent violence, the destruction across the border – has intensified the original wound.

My family remained campaigners for reconciliation. My parent remains, similar to many relatives. We understand that animosity and retaliation won't provide any comfort from the pain.

I compose these words through tears. Over the months, discussing these events intensifies in challenge, rather than simpler. The kids of my friends remain hostages and the weight of subsequent events feels heavy.

The Individual Battle

Personally, I term remembering what happened "swimming in the trauma". We've become accustomed discussing events to campaign for hostage release, while mourning feels like privilege we don't have – now, our efforts persists.

No part of this account serves as justification for war. I've always been against the fighting since it started. The residents of Gaza have suffered terribly.

I'm shocked by leadership actions, while maintaining that the organization shouldn't be viewed as peaceful protesters. Having seen their actions on October 7th. They failed the community – causing suffering for everyone due to their deadly philosophy.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with those who defend the attackers' actions feels like betraying my dead. The people around me faces rising hostility, while my community there has fought with the authorities consistently and been betrayed again and again.

Looking over, the ruin in Gaza appears clearly and emotional. It shocks me. Meanwhile, the moral carte blanche that numerous people appear to offer to the attackers causes hopelessness.