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It began on a morning appearing entirely routine. I journeyed accompanied by my family to pick up our new dog. Everything seemed steady – until it all shifted.

Checking my device, I discovered news from the border. I dialed my parent, anticipating her calm response telling me they were secure. Silence. My dad didn't respond either. Afterward, I reached my brother – his tone instantly communicated the terrible truth even as he said anything.

The Emerging Tragedy

I've witnessed countless individuals on television whose lives were destroyed. Their eyes showing they hadn't yet processed what they'd lost. Now it was me. The floodwaters of tragedy were building, amid the destruction remained chaotic.

My child looked at me over his laptop. I moved to make calls alone. When we arrived our destination, I encountered the brutal execution of someone who cared for me – almost 80 years old – shown in real-time by the terrorists who seized her home.

I recall believing: "Not a single of our friends would make it."

At some point, I viewed videos depicting flames consuming our family home. Nonetheless, later on, I refused to accept the building was gone – until my family sent me visual confirmation.

The Fallout

Upon arriving at our destination, I contacted the puppy provider. "Conflict has begun," I told them. "My parents are likely gone. My community has been taken over by attackers."

The ride back consisted of attempting to reach friends and family while also guarding my young one from the horrific images that circulated everywhere.

The images from that day transcended all comprehension. A child from our community captured by armed militants. Someone who taught me driven toward Gaza using transportation.

Individuals circulated social media clips that seemed impossible. My mother's elderly companion likewise abducted across the border. A young mother and her little boys – kids I recently saw – seized by armed terrorists, the horror visible on her face paralyzing.

The Long Wait

It felt interminable for assistance to reach the area. Then commenced the painful anticipation for updates. In the evening, a lone picture circulated depicting escapees. My mother and father were missing.

Over many days, while neighbors helped forensic teams document losses, we combed the internet for traces of our loved ones. We witnessed brutality and violence. We didn't discover footage of my father – no indication about his final moments.

The Unfolding Truth

Gradually, the reality emerged more fully. My senior mother and father – together with numerous community members – became captives from their home. My father was 83, my mother 85. Amid the terror, one in four of our community members were murdered or abducted.

Over two weeks afterward, my mother emerged from imprisonment. Prior to leaving, she glanced behind and grasped the hand of the guard. "Hello," she uttered. That gesture – a basic human interaction during indescribable tragedy – was transmitted worldwide.

More than sixteen months later, Dad's body were returned. He died just two miles from our home.

The Continuing Trauma

These experiences and the recorded evidence remain with me. All subsequent developments – our determined activism to save hostages, Dad's terrible fate, the persistent violence, the tragedy in the territory – has compounded the primary pain.

My mother and father were lifelong advocates for peace. Mom continues, like other loved ones. We recognize that animosity and retaliation cannot bring any comfort from the pain.

I write this amid sorrow. Over the months, sharing the experience grows harder, rather than simpler. The young ones of my friends are still captive along with the pressure of what followed remains crushing.

The Personal Struggle

In my mind, I describe focusing on the trauma "navigating the pain". We've become accustomed discussing events to campaign for hostage release, despite sorrow seems unaffordable we cannot afford – and two years later, our work continues.

Not one word of this narrative is intended as support for conflict. I have consistently opposed this conflict from day one. The residents of Gaza have suffered beyond imagination.

I'm shocked by leadership actions, yet emphasizing that the militants are not peaceful protesters. Having seen their actions during those hours. They failed their own people – creating suffering for everyone through their violent beliefs.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with people supporting what happened appears as betraying my dead. My local circle faces unprecedented antisemitism, and our people back home has campaigned with the authorities throughout this period while experiencing betrayal again and again.

Across the fields, the devastation of the territory is visible and painful. It shocks me. At the same time, the moral carte blanche that numerous people seem willing to provide to the attackers creates discouragement.