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It unfolded on a morning that seemed completely ordinary. I rode with my husband and son to welcome a new puppy. The world appeared steady – before everything changed.

Checking my device, I discovered news from the border. I tried reaching my parent, expecting her reassuring tone explaining she was safe. Nothing. My dad was also silent. Afterward, my brother answered – his tone instantly communicated the devastating news before he explained.

The Unfolding Horror

I've observed numerous faces in media reports whose existence were torn apart. Their gaze showing they couldn't comprehend their loss. Suddenly it was us. The floodwaters of tragedy were overwhelming, amid the destruction was still swirling.

My child watched me across the seat. I moved to contact people alone. When we arrived the station, I encountered the brutal execution of my childhood caregiver – almost 80 years old – shown in real-time by the terrorists who took over her residence.

I recall believing: "Not one of our loved ones would make it."

Later, I saw footage showing fire erupting from our house. Even then, in the following days, I refused to accept the building was gone – before my siblings provided visual confirmation.

The Fallout

When we reached the city, I contacted the puppy provider. "Hostilities has begun," I said. "My mother and father are likely gone. My community has been taken over by militants."

The journey home involved searching for community members and at the same time guarding my young one from the terrible visuals that were emerging everywhere.

The footage from that day transcended all comprehension. Our neighbor's young son seized by armed militants. Someone who taught me taken in the direction of Gaza in a vehicle.

People shared digital recordings that defied reality. A senior community member likewise abducted into the territory. A young mother accompanied by her children – kids I recently saw – seized by armed terrorists, the terror visible on her face paralyzing.

The Painful Period

It appeared interminable for help to arrive the kibbutz. Then started the terrible uncertainty for information. In the evening, a lone picture emerged of survivors. My mother and father were not among them.

Over many days, as friends worked with authorities identify victims, we searched online platforms for traces of those missing. We encountered brutality and violence. We didn't discover footage of my father – no indication about his final moments.

The Developing Reality

Over time, the reality became clearer. My aged family – together with 74 others – were abducted from their home. My parent was in his eighties, Mom was 85. In the chaos, one in four of our community members were killed or captured.

After more than two weeks, my mother emerged from imprisonment. Prior to leaving, she turned and shook hands of the guard. "Peace," she spoke. That moment – a simple human connection within indescribable tragedy – was transmitted worldwide.

Over 500 days following, Dad's body were recovered. He was murdered just two miles from our home.

The Continuing Trauma

These experiences and their documentation remain with me. All subsequent developments – our determined activism for the captives, Dad's terrible fate, the persistent violence, the destruction across the border – has worsened the primary pain.

My mother and father were lifelong advocates for peace. My parent remains, like most of my family. We understand that hate and revenge won't provide even momentary relief from our suffering.

I compose these words while crying. With each day, talking about what happened becomes more difficult, instead of improving. The young ones from my community continue imprisoned along with the pressure of subsequent events remains crushing.

The Personal Struggle

In my mind, I term remembering what happened "immersed in suffering". We're used to telling our experience to campaign for the captives, though grieving remains a luxury we lack – and two years later, our efforts persists.

Nothing of this narrative serves as support for conflict. I have consistently opposed this conflict from day one. The population in the territory experienced pain terribly.

I am horrified by leadership actions, yet emphasizing that the organization cannot be considered benign resistance fighters. Having seen their actions during those hours. They betrayed the community – causing suffering for everyone through their murderous ideology.

The Social Divide

Telling my truth with people supporting what happened appears as betraying my dead. The people around me confronts rising hostility, and our people back home has struggled with the authorities throughout this period and been betrayed repeatedly.

Across the fields, the destruction in Gaza appears clearly and visceral. It appalls me. Meanwhile, the moral carte blanche that many appear to offer to the organizations causes hopelessness.