🔗 Share this article

It unfolded during that morning appearing perfectly normal. I was traveling with my husband and son to welcome a new puppy. The world appeared predictable – then reality shattered.

Checking my device, I discovered updates about the border region. I dialed my parent, hoping for her calm response saying they were secure. No answer. My dad couldn't be reached. Then, my sibling picked up – his tone instantly communicated the awful reality prior to he said anything.

The Developing Tragedy

I've witnessed numerous faces through news coverage whose lives were destroyed. Their expressions showing they didn't understand their tragedy. Now it was me. The torrent of tragedy were building, amid the destruction was still swirling.

My young one looked at me from his screen. I relocated to reach out alone. By the time we reached the station, I encountered the terrible killing of my childhood caregiver – almost 80 years old – as it was streamed by the attackers who seized her house.

I recall believing: "Not one of our family will survive."

At some point, I viewed videos showing fire bursting through our residence. Nonetheless, for days afterward, I refused to accept the home had burned – until my siblings sent me photographs and evidence.

The Aftermath

Upon arriving at the city, I called the dog breeder. "Conflict has begun," I explained. "My parents are probably dead. Our kibbutz fell to by terrorists."

The ride back involved attempting to reach community members and at the same time protecting my son from the awful footage that spread through networks.

The footage during those hours were beyond all comprehension. A 12-year-old neighbor captured by several attackers. Someone who taught me transported to Gaza in a vehicle.

People shared Telegram videos that seemed impossible. An 86-year-old friend also taken into the territory. A young mother with her two small sons – children I had played with – captured by attackers, the terror apparent in her expression stunning.

The Agonizing Delay

It appeared interminable for help to arrive the kibbutz. Then started the terrible uncertainty for updates. As time passed, a single image appeared of survivors. My mother and father were missing.

During the following period, as friends worked with authorities locate the missing, we scoured online platforms for evidence of our loved ones. We encountered atrocities and horrors. We never found recordings showing my parent – no evidence about his final moments.

The Developing Reality

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, Mom was 85. During the violence, 25 percent of our community members were murdered or abducted.

Over two weeks afterward, my parent was released from imprisonment. Before departing, she glanced behind and offered a handshake of her captor. "Peace," she said. That moment – an elemental act of humanity within unimaginable horror – was broadcast globally.

Five hundred and two days afterward, my parent's physical presence were recovered. He died only kilometers from our home.

The Continuing Trauma

These tragedies and the visual proof remain with me. All subsequent developments – our urgent efforts for the captives, Dad's terrible fate, the persistent violence, the tragedy in the territory – has worsened the primary pain.

Both my parents remained campaigners for reconciliation. My mother still is, similar to other loved ones. We recognize that animosity and retaliation won't provide any comfort from the pain.

I compose these words through tears. With each day, talking about what happened intensifies in challenge, instead of improving. The kids of my friends continue imprisoned and the weight of subsequent events feels heavy.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I term focusing on the trauma "immersed in suffering". We typically telling our experience to advocate for hostage release, while mourning remains a luxury we lack – now, our campaign endures.

No part of this account serves as endorsement of violence. I continuously rejected this conflict since it started. The people of Gaza endured tragedy beyond imagination.

I am horrified by leadership actions, but I also insist that the organization are not benign resistance fighters. Because I know what they did during those hours. They failed their own people – ensuring tragedy on both sides because of their deadly philosophy.

The Community Split

Sharing my story among individuals justifying the violence appears as failing the deceased. My community here faces unprecedented antisemitism, meanwhile our kibbutz has fought with the authorities throughout this period facing repeated disappointment again and again.

Looking over, the ruin of the territory can be seen and emotional. It horrifies me. At the same time, the ethical free pass that many appear to offer to the attackers makes me despair.