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It unfolded on a morning looking perfectly normal. I was traveling together with my loved ones to welcome our new dog. The world appeared predictable – until everything changed.

Checking my device, I discovered news from the border. I called my mum, anticipating her cheerful voice saying they were secure. No answer. My dad was also silent. Afterward, my brother answered – his voice instantly communicated the devastating news even as he said anything.

The Developing Horror

I've observed countless individuals through news coverage whose lives had collapsed. Their expressions showing they didn't understand their loss. Then it became our turn. The floodwaters of violence were building, amid the destruction remained chaotic.

My child glanced toward me across the seat. I relocated to make calls separately. By the time we got to the city, I would witness the brutal execution of a woman from my past – a senior citizen – as it was streamed by the militants who took over her residence.

I remember thinking: "Not one of our friends could live through this."

At some point, I viewed videos revealing blazes erupting from our house. Nonetheless, in the following days, I denied the home had burned – until my family sent me images and proof.

The Aftermath

Getting to our destination, I phoned the puppy provider. "Conflict has started," I told them. "My mother and father may not survive. Our kibbutz has been taken over by militants."

The journey home was spent attempting to reach friends and family while simultaneously guarding my young one from the horrific images that were emerging everywhere.

The scenes during those hours were beyond any possible expectation. A child from our community captured by several attackers. Someone who taught me transported to the border on a golf cart.

Friends sent social media clips appearing unbelievable. My mother's elderly companion similarly captured across the border. A woman I knew accompanied by her children – boys I knew well – captured by armed terrorists, the terror visible on her face devastating.

The Painful Period

It appeared endless for help to arrive the area. Then commenced the painful anticipation for information. Later that afternoon, a single image circulated showing those who made it. My parents were missing.

Over many days, as friends worked with authorities identify victims, we scoured online platforms for evidence of our loved ones. We witnessed brutality and violence. There was no recordings showing my parent – no evidence concerning his ordeal.

The Unfolding Truth

Gradually, the reality became clearer. My aged family – as well as dozens more – became captives from the community. My father was 83, Mom was 85. During the violence, one in four of our neighbors were murdered or abducted.

Seventeen days later, my mum was released from imprisonment. As she left, she glanced behind and shook hands of the guard. "Hello," she spoke. That moment – a simple human connection amid indescribable tragedy – was transmitted worldwide.

Over 500 days later, my father's remains were recovered. He was killed just two miles from where we lived.

The Ongoing Pain

These events and the visual proof remain with me. All subsequent developments – our urgent efforts to free prisoners, my parent's awful death, the ongoing war, the tragedy in the territory – has worsened the primary pain.

My family had always been campaigners for reconciliation. Mom continues, as are many relatives. We understand that hostility and vengeance won't provide even momentary relief from this tragedy.

I compose these words through tears. Over the months, sharing the experience grows harder, instead of improving. The young ones from my community remain hostages and the weight of the aftermath feels heavy.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I call remembering what happened "navigating the pain". We typically telling our experience to fight for the captives, despite sorrow feels like privilege we don't have – now, our work persists.

Nothing of this story represents justification for war. I've always been against hostilities from day one. The people across the border experienced pain unimaginably.

I'm appalled by leadership actions, but I also insist that the organization cannot be considered innocent activists. Having seen what they did during those hours. They abandoned the community – causing pain for all because of their murderous ideology.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with those who defend the violence seems like failing the deceased. My local circle faces rising hostility, and our people back home has fought versus leadership throughout this period while experiencing betrayal multiple times.

Looking over, the devastation of the territory is visible and visceral. It appalls me. Meanwhile, the ethical free pass that numerous people seem willing to provide to the attackers makes me despair.