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It began on a morning that seemed completely ordinary. I journeyed with my husband and son to pick up a furry companion. The world appeared secure – before reality shattered.

Checking my device, I saw news concerning the frontier. I tried reaching my parent, hoping for her calm response explaining they were secure. Nothing. My parent couldn't be reached. Next, my sibling picked up – his tone immediately revealed the awful reality even as he said anything.

The Emerging Tragedy

I've seen numerous faces through news coverage whose worlds were destroyed. Their expressions showing they hadn't yet processed what they'd lost. Suddenly it was us. The torrent of violence were overwhelming, amid the destruction remained chaotic.

My child looked at me from his screen. I relocated to make calls in private. When we got to our destination, I encountered the terrible killing of someone who cared for me – a senior citizen – broadcast live by the militants who seized her home.

I thought to myself: "Not a single of our family will survive."

Eventually, I witnessed recordings depicting flames consuming our house. Nonetheless, later on, I couldn't believe the home had burned – not until my family sent me visual confirmation.

The Aftermath

When we reached the station, I phoned the dog breeder. "Conflict has started," I told them. "My family are probably dead. Our neighborhood was captured by attackers."

The ride back involved attempting to reach friends and family while also guarding my young one from the awful footage that circulated across platforms.

The footage of that day were beyond all comprehension. A child from our community captured by multiple terrorists. My former educator taken in the direction of Gaza on a golf cart.

Individuals circulated digital recordings appearing unbelievable. An 86-year-old friend similarly captured across the border. A woman I knew with her two small sons – boys I knew well – captured by attackers, the horror visible on her face paralyzing.

The Painful Period

It seemed interminable for assistance to reach the kibbutz. Then started the agonizing wait for updates. Later that afternoon, a single image appeared of survivors. My family were not among them.

Over many days, as friends worked with authorities identify victims, we scoured digital spaces for traces of those missing. We saw atrocities and horrors. There was no recordings showing my parent – no indication concerning his ordeal.

The Emerging Picture

Over time, the circumstances became clearer. My elderly parents – along with 74 others – were taken hostage from the community. Dad had reached 83 years, Mom was 85. During the violence, 25 percent of our neighbors lost their lives or freedom.

Seventeen days later, my parent emerged from imprisonment. Before departing, she turned and offered a handshake of her captor. "Hello," she said. That gesture – an elemental act of humanity amid unimaginable horror – was broadcast globally.

Over 500 days afterward, my father's remains came back. He was killed a short distance from our home.

The Persistent Wound

These tragedies and the recorded evidence remain with me. The two years since – our determined activism to free prisoners, my father's horrific end, the continuing conflict, the tragedy in the territory – has worsened the initial trauma.

My family were lifelong peace activists. Mom continues, as are most of my family. We know that hostility and vengeance don't offer any comfort from this tragedy.

I share these thoughts through tears. As time passes, sharing the experience intensifies in challenge, not easier. The young ones belonging to companions remain hostages and the weight of the aftermath remains crushing.

The Personal Struggle

To myself, I term dwelling on these events "navigating the pain". We're used to discussing events to advocate for hostage release, despite sorrow seems unaffordable we lack – now, our work endures.

Not one word of this narrative represents endorsement of violence. I've always been against hostilities since it started. The residents across the border endured tragedy terribly.

I'm appalled by government decisions, while maintaining that the organization shouldn't be viewed as benign resistance fighters. Having seen their atrocities during those hours. They betrayed the community – creating pain for all because of their violent beliefs.

The Community Split

Sharing my story among individuals justifying the violence appears as failing the deceased. My community here faces unprecedented antisemitism, while my community there has campaigned versus leadership for two years and been betrayed repeatedly.

Across the fields, the devastation across the frontier can be seen and painful. It horrifies me. At the same time, the ethical free pass that numerous people appear to offer to the organizations makes me despair.