24 Months Following that October Day: As Hostility Transformed Into The Norm – Why Empathy Stands as Our Sole Hope

It started on a morning that seemed perfectly normal. I journeyed accompanied by my family to collect a furry companion. Everything seemed steady – before everything changed.

Checking my device, I discovered news concerning the frontier. I tried reaching my mother, anticipating her calm response explaining she was safe. Silence. My dad couldn't be reached. Next, my brother answered – his speech instantly communicated the devastating news before he explained.

The Developing Horror

I've observed so many people on television whose existence had collapsed. Their eyes demonstrating they hadn't yet processed their loss. Now it was me. The floodwaters of horror were rising, and the debris hadn't settled.

My child watched me across the seat. I shifted to reach out separately. By the time we arrived our destination, I would witness the horrific murder of my childhood caregiver – a senior citizen – shown in real-time by the terrorists who captured her house.

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

Eventually, I witnessed recordings revealing blazes erupting from our family home. Despite this, in the following days, I denied the home had burned – before my family sent me images and proof.

The Fallout

Upon arriving at our destination, I contacted the kennel owner. "A war has begun," I said. "My parents may not survive. My community has been taken over by attackers."

The ride back was spent trying to contact loved ones while also guarding my young one from the terrible visuals that were emerging across platforms.

The images from that day exceeded any possible expectation. A 12-year-old neighbor captured by armed militants. My mathematics teacher transported to the territory on a golf cart.

Individuals circulated digital recordings that seemed impossible. My mother's elderly companion likewise abducted into the territory. My friend's daughter and her little boys – children I had played with – captured by attackers, the fear apparent in her expression paralyzing.

The Long Wait

It appeared interminable for help to arrive the kibbutz. Then began the agonizing wait for information. As time passed, one photograph emerged depicting escapees. My family weren't there.

For days and weeks, as friends assisted investigators locate the missing, we combed online platforms for signs of family members. We witnessed torture and mutilation. There was no recordings showing my parent – no indication regarding his experience.

The Developing Reality

Eventually, the situation emerged more fully. My senior mother and father – together with numerous community members – were abducted from their home. My parent was in his eighties, my other parent was elderly. Amid the terror, one in four of our community members lost their lives or freedom.

After more than two weeks, my mother emerged from captivity. Prior to leaving, she turned and shook hands of the guard. "Shalom," she uttered. That moment – a simple human connection during unspeakable violence – was shared globally.

More than sixteen months afterward, Dad's body were recovered. He was killed only kilometers from the kibbutz.

The Continuing Trauma

These experiences and their documentation remain with me. The two years since – our urgent efforts for the captives, my parent's awful death, the ongoing war, the tragedy in the territory – has worsened the initial trauma.

Both my parents remained campaigners for reconciliation. My mother still is, similar to other loved ones. We know that animosity and retaliation don't offer any comfort from the pain.

I compose these words through tears. Over the months, discussing these events becomes more difficult, not easier. The kids belonging to companions remain hostages and the weight of what followed is overwhelming.

The Personal Struggle

In my mind, I describe dwelling on these events "swimming in the trauma". We're used to discussing events to fight for freedom, though grieving remains a luxury we cannot afford – after 24 months, our work endures.

Nothing of this account is intended as justification for war. I have consistently opposed this conflict from the beginning. The residents in the territory endured tragedy terribly.

I'm appalled by political choices, yet emphasizing that the organization are not innocent activists. Because I know what they did during those hours. They failed the community – creating tragedy on both sides due to their murderous ideology.

The Community Split

Discussing my experience among individuals justifying what happened appears as failing the deceased. My community here faces growing prejudice, while my community there has campaigned versus leadership throughout this period facing repeated disappointment multiple times.

From the border, the destruction across the frontier appears clearly and visceral. It shocks me. At the same time, the moral carte blanche that many seem to grant to militant groups makes me despair.