24 Months Since that October Day: As Animosity Became Trend – Why Humanity Stands as Our Best Hope

It started on a morning looking entirely routine. I rode together with my loved ones to collect a furry companion. Everything seemed predictable – until everything changed.

Opening my phone, I saw updates concerning the frontier. I dialed my mum, hoping for her calm response telling me everything was fine. Silence. My parent couldn't be reached. Next, my brother answered – his speech already told me the devastating news prior to he explained.

The Unfolding Horror

I've seen countless individuals through news coverage whose existence were torn apart. Their gaze showing they hadn't yet processed their tragedy. Now it was me. The floodwaters of violence were building, with the wreckage was still swirling.

My young one glanced toward me over his laptop. I shifted to reach out alone. When we reached our destination, I encountered the horrific murder of someone who cared for me – an elderly woman – as it was streamed by the militants who seized her house.

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

Later, I viewed videos showing fire bursting through our family home. Despite this, for days afterward, I denied the home had burned – before my family shared with me images and proof.

The Consequences

Upon arriving at the station, I contacted the dog breeder. "Hostilities has erupted," I told them. "My family are likely gone. My community was captured by attackers."

The ride back was spent searching for loved ones while simultaneously guarding my young one from the awful footage that were emerging everywhere.

The scenes from that day were beyond any possible expectation. Our neighbor's young son taken by multiple terrorists. My mathematics teacher driven toward Gaza on a golf cart.

Individuals circulated digital recordings that seemed impossible. An 86-year-old friend likewise abducted across the border. A young mother with her two small sons – boys I knew well – seized by militants, the terror visible on her face devastating.

The Agonizing Delay

It felt to take forever for the military to come our community. Then commenced the terrible uncertainty for information. As time passed, a single image circulated of survivors. My parents weren't there.

Over many days, as friends assisted investigators locate the missing, we scoured online platforms for traces of those missing. We witnessed brutality and violence. We never found footage of my father – no evidence regarding his experience.

The Unfolding Truth

Eventually, the reality became clearer. My elderly parents – as well as 74 others – became captives from our kibbutz. My parent was in his eighties, Mom was 85. In the chaos, 25 percent of our neighbors were killed or captured.

Over two weeks afterward, my mother emerged from captivity. Before departing, she turned and shook hands of the guard. "Hello," she spoke. That gesture – an elemental act of humanity during unspeakable violence – was broadcast everywhere.

Over 500 days afterward, my parent's physical presence were recovered. He was murdered a short distance from where we lived.

The Persistent Wound

These tragedies and the visual proof remain with me. All subsequent developments – our determined activism to free prisoners, my parent's awful death, the ongoing war, the destruction across the border – has compounded the primary pain.

My family were lifelong peace activists. My mother still is, as are most of my family. We recognize that hate and revenge won't provide the slightest solace from this tragedy.

I share these thoughts through tears. With each day, sharing the experience intensifies in challenge, rather than simpler. The young ones from my community remain hostages and the weight of what followed is overwhelming.

The Individual Battle

To myself, I call dwelling on these events "navigating the pain". We're used to sharing our story to campaign for freedom, while mourning feels like privilege we cannot afford – and two years later, our efforts continues.

Not one word of this narrative serves as endorsement of violence. I've always been against this conflict from the beginning. The people across the border experienced pain beyond imagination.

I am horrified by leadership actions, but I also insist that the organization shouldn't be viewed as innocent activists. Since I witnessed their atrocities on October 7th. They abandoned the population – causing pain for all due to their violent beliefs.

The Personal Isolation

Sharing my story with people supporting the attackers' actions seems like failing the deceased. My local circle confronts unprecedented antisemitism, meanwhile our kibbutz has campaigned against its government for two years and been betrayed multiple times.

Looking over, the devastation in Gaza is visible and painful. It horrifies me. At the same time, the ethical free pass that various individuals appear to offer to the attackers causes hopelessness.