24 Months After the 7th of October: When Animosity Became The Norm – The Reason Compassion Remains Our Best Hope

It started on a morning looking entirely routine. I journeyed together with my loved ones to pick up our new dog. The world appeared predictable – until it all shifted.

Opening my phone, I noticed updates from the border. I tried reaching my mother, anticipating her reassuring tone explaining they were secure. No answer. My father couldn't be reached. Next, I reached my brother – his tone immediately revealed the devastating news even as he explained.

The Developing Nightmare

I've seen so many people in media reports whose worlds were destroyed. Their gaze demonstrating they couldn't comprehend their loss. Then it became our turn. The floodwaters of horror were building, with the wreckage was still swirling.

My young one glanced toward me over his laptop. I relocated to contact people alone. When we got to our destination, I saw the brutal execution of a woman from my past – almost 80 years old – broadcast live by the terrorists who seized her house.

I recall believing: "Not one of our friends could live through this."

Eventually, I witnessed recordings depicting flames erupting from our family home. Nonetheless, later on, I denied the house was destroyed – until my siblings provided photographs and evidence.

The Aftermath

Getting to our destination, I called the dog breeder. "Hostilities has begun," I said. "My parents are likely gone. Our neighborhood fell to by terrorists."

The ride back was spent trying to contact friends and family while simultaneously protecting my son from the terrible visuals that circulated across platforms.

The footage of that day were beyond anything we could imagine. Our neighbor's young son taken by several attackers. My former educator driven toward the territory on a golf cart.

Friends sent Telegram videos appearing unbelievable. My mother's elderly companion similarly captured across the border. A young mother and her little boys – boys I knew well – seized by armed terrorists, the horror in her eyes paralyzing.

The Agonizing Delay

It felt endless for help to arrive our community. Then started the painful anticipation for updates. Later that afternoon, a lone picture circulated showing those who made it. My parents weren't there.

For days and weeks, as community members helped forensic teams document losses, we combed the internet for signs of family members. We saw brutality and violence. We never found visual evidence about Dad – no clue regarding his experience.

The Developing Reality

Gradually, the circumstances grew more distinct. My elderly parents – as well as dozens more – were taken hostage from our kibbutz. My father was 83, my mother 85. During the violence, 25 percent of our neighbors were killed or captured.

Over two weeks afterward, my mum emerged from captivity. Prior to leaving, she glanced behind and grasped the hand of the guard. "Peace," she spoke. That moment – a basic human interaction during unimaginable horror – was broadcast everywhere.

More than sixteen months following, my father's remains were recovered. He was murdered a short distance from the kibbutz.

The Persistent Wound

These experiences and the recorded evidence remain with me. All subsequent developments – our urgent efforts for the captives, Dad's terrible fate, the persistent violence, the devastation in Gaza – has compounded the primary pain.

My family remained peace activists. Mom continues, like most of my family. We understand that hate and revenge won't provide even momentary relief from this tragedy.

I write this while crying. With each day, talking about what happened grows harder, not easier. The kids belonging to companions remain hostages and the weight of subsequent events feels heavy.

The Individual Battle

In my mind, I term dwelling on these events "swimming in the trauma". We typically telling our experience to campaign for hostage release, while mourning seems unaffordable we don't have – after 24 months, our work continues.

Nothing of this account serves as support for conflict. I've always been against the fighting from day one. The people across the border experienced pain terribly.

I'm shocked by government decisions, yet emphasizing that the organization are not innocent activists. Having seen their actions on October 7th. They failed the population – ensuring pain for all due to their murderous ideology.

The Personal Isolation

Discussing my experience with those who defend the attackers' actions appears as dishonoring the lost. My community here confronts rising hostility, and our people back home has campaigned with the authorities for two years facing repeated disappointment repeatedly.

Looking over, the destruction in Gaza appears clearly and painful. It shocks me. Simultaneously, the complete justification that various individuals seem to grant to the attackers makes me despair.