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It unfolded that morning looking entirely routine. I rode accompanied by my family to pick up a new puppy. The world appeared predictable – before everything changed.

Glancing at my screen, I noticed reports about the border region. I called my mother, expecting her reassuring tone explaining everything was fine. Silence. My father couldn't be reached. Afterward, my brother answered – his tone immediately revealed the terrible truth before he explained.

The Developing Nightmare

I've witnessed so many people on television whose worlds were torn apart. Their expressions revealing they didn't understand their tragedy. Suddenly it was us. The floodwaters of violence were overwhelming, with the wreckage was still swirling.

My young one watched me across the seat. I shifted to contact people separately. Once we arrived our destination, I would witness the brutal execution of my childhood caregiver – a senior citizen – shown in real-time by the terrorists who captured her home.

I remember thinking: "None of our family could live through this."

At some point, I saw footage revealing blazes bursting through our residence. Despite this, later on, I denied the building was gone – not until my brothers sent me images and proof.

The Fallout

Getting to the city, I phoned the puppy provider. "Hostilities has begun," I said. "My mother and father are likely gone. Our neighborhood has been taken over by militants."

The journey home consisted of trying to contact friends and family and at the same time guarding my young one from the awful footage that were emerging across platforms.

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

People shared Telegram videos appearing unbelievable. A senior community member similarly captured into the territory. My friend's daughter and her little boys – boys I knew well – seized by attackers, the terror in her eyes paralyzing.

The Long Wait

It seemed endless for assistance to reach the area. Then started the painful anticipation for news. As time passed, one photograph appeared of survivors. My mother and father weren't there.

Over many days, as friends helped forensic teams document losses, we searched online platforms for signs of family members. We witnessed atrocities and horrors. We never found recordings showing my parent – no indication regarding his experience.

The Developing Reality

Gradually, the circumstances grew more distinct. My elderly parents – together with dozens more – were abducted from the community. My parent was in his eighties, Mom was 85. In the chaos, a quarter of our neighbors lost their lives or freedom.

After more than two weeks, my mum was released from captivity. Before departing, she glanced behind and offered a handshake of the guard. "Peace," she spoke. That moment – an elemental act of humanity amid unspeakable violence – was transmitted everywhere.

Over 500 days following, my father's remains were returned. He died a short distance from where we lived.

The Continuing Trauma

These tragedies and the visual proof remain with me. Everything that followed – our determined activism to free prisoners, my parent's awful death, the ongoing war, the tragedy in the territory – has worsened the initial trauma.

My mother and father remained advocates for peace. My mother still is, as are other loved ones. We understand that hostility and vengeance won't provide the slightest solace from our suffering.

I write this through tears. Over the months, discussing these events intensifies in challenge, not easier. The young ones of my friends continue imprisoned along with the pressure of subsequent events remains crushing.

The Personal Struggle

In my mind, I call focusing on the trauma "navigating the pain". We're used to discussing events to fight for freedom, while mourning feels like privilege we lack – now, our efforts continues.

Nothing of this account serves as support for conflict. I continuously rejected this conflict since it started. The people across the border have suffered terribly.

I'm shocked by government decisions, while maintaining that the militants cannot be considered benign resistance fighters. Having seen what they did on October 7th. They abandoned their own people – creating tragedy on both sides due to their violent beliefs.

The Personal Isolation

Discussing my experience with those who defend the violence appears as failing the deceased. My community here experiences unprecedented antisemitism, and our people back home has campaigned against its government for two years facing repeated disappointment multiple times.

Across the fields, the ruin of the territory is visible and painful. It appalls me. Meanwhile, the ethical free pass that various individuals seem willing to provide to the attackers creates discouragement.