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It began on a morning looking entirely routine. I was traveling with my husband and son to welcome our new dog. Life felt predictable – then it all shifted.

Opening my phone, I discovered reports about the border region. I dialed my mum, hoping for her calm response telling me they were secure. Silence. My dad was also silent. Next, my brother answered – his voice already told me the awful reality even as he spoke.

The Emerging Tragedy

I've observed so many people on television whose worlds were torn apart. Their eyes revealing they didn't understand their loss. Suddenly it was us. The deluge of violence were overwhelming, with the wreckage remained chaotic.

My son watched me across the seat. I moved to contact people in private. Once we got to the city, I saw the brutal execution of my childhood caregiver – an elderly woman – as it was streamed by the terrorists who captured her residence.

I thought to myself: "Not a single of our loved ones will survive."

Later, I saw footage showing fire erupting from our house. Even then, in the following days, I refused to accept the home had burned – until my brothers provided visual confirmation.

The Consequences

Getting to the city, I contacted the dog breeder. "Conflict has begun," I explained. "My family are probably dead. Our kibbutz has been taken over by terrorists."

The journey home consisted of searching for loved ones and at the same time shielding my child from the terrible visuals that circulated through networks.

The footage from that day transcended any possible expectation. Our neighbor's young son seized by armed militants. My former educator driven toward the territory using transportation.

Friends sent digital recordings that defied reality. An 86-year-old friend also taken into the territory. A woman I knew with her two small sons – children I had played with – seized by armed terrorists, the fear in her eyes paralyzing.

The Agonizing Delay

It appeared to take forever for assistance to reach the kibbutz. Then commenced the agonizing wait for news. Later that afternoon, a lone picture emerged showing those who made it. My family weren't there.

During the following period, while neighbors helped forensic teams identify victims, we combed digital spaces for evidence of our loved ones. We witnessed brutality and violence. We never found visual evidence about Dad – no evidence about his final moments.

The Unfolding Truth

Eventually, the reality became clearer. My elderly parents – together with dozens more – were abducted from their home. Dad had reached 83 years, my other parent was elderly. In the chaos, a quarter of the residents were murdered or abducted.

After more than two weeks, my parent was released from confinement. As she left, she looked back and shook hands of her captor. "Peace," she spoke. That gesture – an elemental act of humanity amid unspeakable violence – was transmitted globally.

Five hundred and two days afterward, my father's remains were recovered. He was murdered a short distance from our home.

The Continuing Trauma

These tragedies and their documentation remain with me. The two years since – our urgent efforts for the captives, my father's horrific end, the persistent violence, the tragedy in the territory – has worsened the initial trauma.

My mother and father had always been advocates for peace. My parent remains, as are most of my family. We know that animosity and retaliation cannot bring even momentary relief from this tragedy.

I compose these words through tears. As time passes, talking about what happened becomes more difficult, not easier. The kids belonging to companions are still captive along with the pressure of subsequent events remains crushing.

The Personal Struggle

In my mind, I term focusing on the trauma "navigating the pain". We typically telling our experience to advocate for the captives, while mourning remains a luxury we cannot afford – now, our campaign persists.

No part of this narrative represents endorsement of violence. I continuously rejected the fighting from the beginning. The population in the territory experienced pain unimaginably.

I am horrified by government decisions, yet emphasizing that the organization cannot be considered benign resistance fighters. Because I know their atrocities during those hours. They abandoned their own people – causing pain for all because of their deadly philosophy.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with people supporting what happened appears as dishonoring the lost. The people around me confronts unprecedented antisemitism, and our people back home has fought versus leadership for two years facing repeated disappointment again and again.

Looking over, the destruction in Gaza appears clearly and visceral. It shocks me. Simultaneously, the moral carte blanche that numerous people appear to offer to the organizations causes hopelessness.