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It started during that morning appearing completely ordinary. I journeyed together with my loved ones to welcome our new dog. The world appeared predictable – until it all shifted.

Opening my phone, I discovered updates concerning the frontier. I dialed my mother, hoping for her calm response explaining she was safe. Silence. My parent couldn't be reached. Then, my sibling picked up – his tone already told me the awful reality prior to he said anything.

The Unfolding Nightmare

I've witnessed so many people in media reports whose worlds were destroyed. Their gaze revealing they didn't understand their tragedy. Suddenly it was us. The torrent of tragedy were building, with the wreckage remained chaotic.

My son watched me across the seat. I shifted to make calls separately. By the time we reached the station, I saw the horrific murder of someone who cared for me – a senior citizen – broadcast live by the terrorists who captured her residence.

I remember thinking: "None of our loved ones will survive."

Eventually, I viewed videos revealing blazes erupting from our house. Nonetheless, in the following days, I couldn't believe the building was gone – until my siblings shared with me visual confirmation.

The Fallout

When we reached our destination, I called the dog breeder. "Conflict has erupted," I said. "My mother and father may not survive. Our neighborhood has been taken over by attackers."

The return trip involved attempting to reach friends and family and at the same time guarding my young one from the awful footage that spread everywhere.

The scenes from that day transcended anything we could imagine. A child from our community seized by armed militants. Someone who taught me transported to Gaza using transportation.

Individuals circulated social media clips appearing unbelievable. A senior community member likewise abducted into the territory. A young mother with her two small sons – boys I knew well – being rounded up by armed terrorists, the terror in her eyes stunning.

The Agonizing Delay

It felt to take forever for assistance to reach our community. Then commenced the agonizing wait for news. As time passed, one photograph appeared of survivors. My mother and father were not among them.

For days and weeks, as friends assisted investigators identify victims, we scoured digital spaces for evidence of those missing. We encountered atrocities and horrors. There was no footage of my father – no clue about his final moments.

The Emerging Picture

Eventually, the situation became clearer. My aged family – as well as dozens more – were taken hostage from our kibbutz. Dad had reached 83 years, my mother 85. During the violence, one in four of the residents were killed or captured.

Over two weeks afterward, my parent emerged from confinement. Prior to leaving, she turned and shook hands of the militant. "Shalom," she spoke. That image – an elemental act of humanity during unimaginable horror – was transmitted globally.

Over 500 days afterward, Dad's body were recovered. He was killed only kilometers from the kibbutz.

The Continuing Trauma

These events and the recorded evidence remain with me. All subsequent developments – our urgent efforts for the captives, my parent's awful death, the ongoing war, the tragedy in the territory – has intensified the initial trauma.

My mother and father were lifelong campaigners for reconciliation. Mom continues, as are most of my family. We know that hate and revenge won't provide any comfort from this tragedy.

I write this amid sorrow. With each day, sharing the experience intensifies in challenge, not easier. The kids belonging to companions are still captive along with the pressure of what followed remains crushing.

The Personal Struggle

Personally, I call dwelling on these events "navigating the pain". We've become accustomed sharing our story to fight for the captives, though grieving seems unaffordable we don't have – now, our efforts continues.

Nothing of this story is intended as endorsement of violence. I have consistently opposed this conflict since it started. The people across the border experienced pain beyond imagination.

I am horrified by leadership actions, but I also insist that the organization are not innocent activists. Having seen their atrocities during those hours. They betrayed their own people – creating pain for all because of their murderous ideology.

The Social Divide

Telling my truth among individuals justifying the violence seems like betraying my dead. My community here faces unprecedented antisemitism, while my community there has struggled with the authorities for two years facing repeated disappointment multiple times.

From the border, the devastation in Gaza appears clearly and visceral. It horrifies me. Meanwhile, the moral carte blanche that various individuals seem willing to provide to militant groups creates discouragement.