🔗 Share this article 24 Months Since the 7th of October: When Hate Became The Norm – The Reason Humanity Is Our Sole Hope It began that morning appearing entirely routine. I journeyed accompanied by my family to welcome our new dog. Life felt steady – before everything changed. Opening my phone, I discovered updates concerning the frontier. I dialed my parent, hoping for her reassuring tone explaining everything was fine. Nothing. My dad was also silent. Then, my sibling picked up – his tone instantly communicated the awful reality even as he said anything. The Emerging Nightmare I've witnessed numerous faces on television whose worlds were destroyed. Their gaze showing they hadn't yet processed their loss. Suddenly it was us. The torrent of tragedy were overwhelming, amid the destruction remained chaotic. My young one looked at me over his laptop. I shifted to contact people alone. By the time we reached our destination, I saw the terrible killing of my childhood caregiver – almost 80 years old – shown in real-time by the attackers who captured her home. I remember thinking: "None of our friends could live through this." Eventually, I saw footage depicting flames consuming our house. Despite this, for days afterward, I refused to accept the house was destroyed – before my brothers provided images and proof. The Consequences When we reached the city, I contacted the puppy provider. "A war has begun," I told them. "My family may not survive. My community was captured by attackers." The ride back was spent trying to contact loved ones and at the same time shielding my child from the terrible visuals that spread through networks. The scenes of that day transcended anything we could imagine. A child from our community taken by several attackers. My former educator driven toward the territory in a vehicle. Individuals circulated Telegram videos that defied reality. A senior community member also taken into the territory. My friend's daughter accompanied by her children – boys I knew well – captured by militants, the fear in her eyes stunning. The Long Wait It appeared interminable for assistance to reach the kibbutz. Then commenced the agonizing wait for news. Later that afternoon, one photograph appeared of survivors. My parents were not among them. Over many days, as community members helped forensic teams identify victims, we combed the internet for signs of our loved ones. We saw brutality and violence. We never found footage of my father – no clue concerning his ordeal. The Developing Reality Over time, the circumstances became clearer. My elderly parents – together with numerous community members – were taken hostage from their home. My parent was in his eighties, my mother 85. Amid the terror, a quarter of our neighbors were killed or captured. After more than two weeks, my mother was released from imprisonment. Before departing, she turned and offered a handshake of the militant. "Hello," she uttered. That gesture – a basic human interaction within indescribable tragedy – was transmitted globally. Five hundred and two days following, Dad's body came back. He was murdered just two miles from the kibbutz. The Ongoing Pain These experiences and their documentation remain with me. All subsequent developments – our desperate campaign for the captives, Dad's terrible fate, the ongoing war, the tragedy in the territory – has compounded the primary pain. My mother and father remained peace activists. My mother still is, like most of my family. We know that animosity and retaliation cannot bring any comfort from the pain. I compose these words while crying. Over the months, talking about what happened becomes more difficult, not easier. The young ones from my community are still captive and the weight of what followed is overwhelming. The Individual Battle In my mind, I call dwelling on these events "immersed in suffering". We've become accustomed telling our experience to advocate for the captives, though grieving remains a luxury we cannot afford – and two years later, our efforts persists. No part of this narrative represents justification for war. I continuously rejected hostilities from day one. The population across the border experienced pain terribly. I'm shocked by leadership actions, but I also insist that the organization shouldn't be viewed as peaceful protesters. Having seen their actions that day. They abandoned their own people – ensuring suffering for everyone due to their violent beliefs. The Community Split Sharing my story with people supporting what happened appears as failing the deceased. My local circle faces unprecedented antisemitism, and our people back home has campaigned versus leadership for two years and been betrayed multiple times. From the border, the destruction across the frontier can be seen and emotional. It appalls me. Simultaneously, the complete justification that many seem willing to provide to the attackers creates discouragement.