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It unfolded on a morning appearing entirely routine. I was traveling with my husband and son to collect our new dog. The world appeared secure – then it all shifted.

Opening my phone, I discovered news about the border region. I tried reaching my mother, hoping for her cheerful voice explaining she was safe. Silence. My dad didn't respond either. Next, my brother answered – his speech already told me the devastating news before he spoke.

The Emerging Horror

I've witnessed numerous faces through news coverage whose lives were torn apart. Their expressions revealing they couldn't comprehend what they'd lost. Then it became our turn. The floodwaters of tragedy were rising, amid the destruction remained chaotic.

My young one glanced toward me from his screen. I shifted to contact people alone. When we got to the city, I saw the horrific murder of a woman from my past – a senior citizen – broadcast live by the terrorists who seized her residence.

I recall believing: "None of our friends would make it."

Later, I saw footage depicting flames bursting through our family home. Despite this, in the following days, I couldn't believe the home had burned – not until my family provided images and proof.

The Consequences

When we reached our destination, I called the puppy provider. "Hostilities has started," I told them. "My mother and father are likely gone. My community fell to by militants."

The ride back consisted of trying to contact community members while also shielding my child from the awful footage that spread through networks.

The images from that day transcended anything we could imagine. A child from our community taken by armed militants. My mathematics teacher taken in the direction of Gaza on a golf cart.

People shared social media clips appearing unbelievable. An 86-year-old friend similarly captured across the border. A woman I knew accompanied by her children – children I had played with – captured by militants, the horror in her eyes devastating.

The Painful Period

It appeared to take forever for help to arrive the area. Then commenced the terrible uncertainty for updates. As time passed, one photograph emerged depicting escapees. My mother and father were not among them.

During the following period, as community members assisted investigators identify victims, we combed online platforms for evidence of our loved ones. We saw atrocities and horrors. There was no footage of my father – no evidence regarding his experience.

The Unfolding Truth

Over time, the circumstances became clearer. My aged family – along with dozens more – became captives from the community. My father was 83, my mother 85. Amid the terror, a quarter of our community members were murdered or abducted.

Over two weeks afterward, my mother left captivity. As she left, she looked back and grasped the hand of the militant. "Shalom," she spoke. That moment – a basic human interaction amid unspeakable violence – was shared globally.

More than sixteen months following, my father's remains came back. He was killed just two miles from our home.

The Ongoing Pain

These events and the recorded evidence still terrorize me. All subsequent developments – our urgent efforts to save hostages, Dad's terrible fate, the continuing conflict, the devastation in Gaza – has intensified the initial trauma.

My mother and father were lifelong advocates for peace. My parent remains, as are many relatives. We recognize that hostility and vengeance cannot bring even momentary relief from our suffering.

I write this while crying. As time passes, discussing these events becomes more difficult, not easier. The kids from my community are still captive with the burden of what followed remains crushing.

The Personal Struggle

In my mind, I term dwelling on these events "swimming in the trauma". We typically discussing events to campaign for freedom, while mourning feels like privilege we cannot afford – and two years later, our work continues.

Nothing of this story is intended as endorsement of violence. I continuously rejected this conflict since it started. The people in the territory endured tragedy unimaginably.

I am horrified by leadership actions, while maintaining that the attackers are not peaceful protesters. Because I know what they did on October 7th. They failed the population – creating suffering for everyone due to their deadly philosophy.

The Social Divide

Discussing my experience among individuals justifying what happened appears as betraying my dead. The people around me faces rising hostility, while my community there has campaigned with the authorities consistently and been betrayed again and again.

Across the fields, the destruction of the territory can be seen and emotional. It shocks me. Meanwhile, the complete justification that numerous people seem to grant to the organizations makes me despair.