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It started on a morning that seemed entirely routine. I rode with my husband and son to collect a furry companion. The world appeared secure – then it all shifted.

Checking my device, I discovered news from the border. I dialed my mum, anticipating her reassuring tone saying everything was fine. No answer. My father didn't respond either. Next, my sibling picked up – his speech already told me the devastating news even as he said anything.

The Emerging Horror

I've witnessed numerous faces on television whose existence had collapsed. Their gaze showing they hadn't yet processed their loss. Then it became our turn. The deluge of violence were overwhelming, with the wreckage remained chaotic.

My son looked at me over his laptop. I relocated to contact people in private. By the time we got to our destination, I encountered the brutal execution of a woman from my past – almost 80 years old – shown in real-time by the attackers who seized her home.

I thought to myself: "None of our loved ones will survive."

Eventually, I saw footage depicting flames consuming our residence. Even then, later on, I denied the building was gone – not until my family shared with me images and proof.

The Consequences

Upon arriving at the station, I phoned the dog breeder. "A war has started," I said. "My mother and father are probably dead. Our neighborhood fell to by militants."

The journey home was spent attempting to reach friends and family while also shielding my child from the awful footage that spread everywhere.

The scenes of that day exceeded any possible expectation. A 12-year-old neighbor captured by multiple terrorists. Someone who taught me taken in the direction of the border using transportation.

Individuals circulated digital recordings that seemed impossible. An 86-year-old friend also taken to Gaza. My friend's daughter accompanied by her children – children I had played with – seized by armed terrorists, the terror visible on her face devastating.

The Agonizing Delay

It felt to take forever for the military to come the kibbutz. Then started the terrible uncertainty for news. In the evening, a single image emerged depicting escapees. My mother and father were missing.

Over many days, as community members worked with authorities document losses, we searched the internet for signs of those missing. We witnessed atrocities and horrors. We didn't discover recordings showing my parent – no evidence regarding his experience.

The Unfolding Truth

Eventually, the situation grew more distinct. My aged family – along with numerous community members – became captives from their home. My father was 83, Mom was 85. Amid the terror, a quarter of our neighbors were murdered or abducted.

After more than two weeks, my parent was released from confinement. Prior to leaving, she turned and shook hands of the guard. "Hello," she uttered. That image – a simple human connection during indescribable tragedy – was shared everywhere.

Over 500 days later, my father's remains were returned. He was killed a short distance from where we lived.

The Ongoing Pain

These tragedies and their documentation remain with me. The two years since – our determined activism for the captives, my father's horrific end, the ongoing war, the destruction across the border – has worsened the primary pain.

Both my parents had always been peace activists. My parent remains, like many relatives. We know that hostility and vengeance won't provide even momentary relief from our suffering.

I share these thoughts through tears. Over the months, sharing the experience grows harder, not easier. The young ones of my friends are still captive and the weight of what followed feels heavy.

The Personal Struggle

To myself, I term focusing on the trauma "navigating the pain". We're used to sharing our story to advocate for freedom, despite sorrow feels like privilege we lack – and two years later, our campaign persists.

No part of this narrative represents justification for war. I have consistently opposed this conflict since it started. The residents of Gaza have suffered unimaginably.

I'm appalled by leadership actions, while maintaining that the attackers shouldn't be viewed as peaceful protesters. Having seen their atrocities on October 7th. They failed the population – ensuring tragedy on both sides because of their violent beliefs.

The Community Split

Discussing my experience with people supporting the violence feels like failing the deceased. My community here faces unprecedented antisemitism, while my community there has campaigned with the authorities for two years while experiencing betrayal repeatedly.

From the border, the devastation of the territory is visible and painful. It horrifies me. Simultaneously, the complete justification that many seem to grant to the attackers causes hopelessness.