Two Years After the 7th of October: As Animosity Became Fashion – The Reason Humanity Is Our Sole Hope

It started during that morning appearing entirely routine. I journeyed together with my loved ones to welcome a new puppy. Everything seemed predictable – then reality shattered.

Checking my device, I noticed news from the border. I called my parent, expecting her calm response telling me they were secure. No answer. My father couldn't be reached. Next, I reached my brother – his speech immediately revealed the terrible truth even as he explained.

The Unfolding Tragedy

I've observed numerous faces in media reports whose worlds were torn apart. Their gaze demonstrating they hadn't yet processed their loss. Then it became our turn. The floodwaters of horror were overwhelming, amid the destruction hadn't settled.

My son glanced toward me from his screen. I shifted to reach out separately. By the time we got to the station, I would witness the brutal execution of a woman from my past – a senior citizen – as it was streamed by the militants who captured her residence.

I remember thinking: "Not a single of our loved ones will survive."

Eventually, I viewed videos depicting flames bursting through our house. Nonetheless, later on, I couldn't believe the home had burned – before my brothers sent me images and proof.

The Aftermath

When we reached the station, I phoned the kennel owner. "Hostilities has started," I said. "My mother and father may not survive. My community fell to by militants."

The journey home involved searching for community members while also shielding my child from the horrific images that spread through networks.

The footage from that day exceeded any possible expectation. A 12-year-old neighbor seized by multiple terrorists. Someone who taught me driven toward the territory using transportation.

People shared social media clips that defied reality. An 86-year-old friend also taken across the border. A young mother with her two small sons – children I had played with – being rounded up by attackers, the horror visible on her face devastating.

The Painful Period

It appeared interminable for the military to come the area. Then started the terrible uncertainty for information. In the evening, a single image emerged depicting escapees. My parents were missing.

For days and weeks, while neighbors assisted investigators document losses, we combed digital spaces for signs of family members. We saw torture and mutilation. We didn't discover footage of my father – no evidence concerning his ordeal.

The Emerging Picture

Eventually, the circumstances emerged more fully. My senior mother and father – together with 74 others – were abducted from the community. My father was 83, my other parent was elderly. Amid the terror, a quarter of our neighbors were murdered or abducted.

Seventeen days later, my mother emerged from imprisonment. Before departing, she glanced behind and shook hands of the militant. "Shalom," she uttered. That gesture – a simple human connection within indescribable tragedy – was shared globally.

Five hundred and two days afterward, my parent's physical presence came back. He was killed only kilometers from the kibbutz.

The Continuing Trauma

These tragedies and the recorded evidence remain with me. Everything that followed – our urgent efforts to free prisoners, my parent's awful death, the continuing conflict, the devastation in Gaza – has worsened the original wound.

My mother and father remained advocates for peace. My mother still is, as are other loved ones. We understand that animosity and retaliation won't provide even momentary relief from this tragedy.

I share these thoughts through tears. With each day, talking about what happened intensifies in challenge, rather than simpler. The kids of my friends continue imprisoned along with the pressure of subsequent events remains crushing.

The Personal Struggle

To myself, I call remembering what happened "navigating the pain". We've become accustomed telling our experience to fight for hostage release, while mourning seems unaffordable we cannot afford – and two years later, our efforts continues.

Nothing of this narrative is intended as endorsement of violence. I have consistently opposed the fighting from day one. The population in the territory endured tragedy unimaginably.

I'm shocked by political choices, while maintaining that the militants shouldn't be viewed as innocent activists. Since I witnessed their atrocities during those hours. They abandoned the population – creating tragedy on both sides because of their violent beliefs.

The Community Split

Discussing my experience with people supporting the attackers' actions feels like dishonoring the lost. My local circle confronts unprecedented antisemitism, meanwhile our kibbutz has struggled against its government consistently and been betrayed again and again.

Looking over, the ruin across the frontier can be seen and painful. It appalls me. At the same time, the complete justification that numerous people seem to grant to the organizations makes me despair.