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It began on a morning that seemed perfectly normal. I was traveling with my husband and son to collect our new dog. Life felt steady – then reality shattered.

Glancing at my screen, I saw news from the border. I tried reaching my parent, anticipating her cheerful voice saying they were secure. No answer. My parent was also silent. Afterward, I reached my brother – his speech already told me the awful reality prior to he said anything.

The Developing Nightmare

I've seen numerous faces on television whose existence were destroyed. Their gaze revealing they couldn't comprehend what they'd lost. Suddenly it was us. The floodwaters of tragedy were rising, and the debris was still swirling.

My son looked at me from his screen. I relocated to make calls in private. By the time we got to the station, I saw the terrible killing of a woman from my past – almost 80 years old – broadcast live by the attackers who seized her residence.

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

Eventually, I witnessed recordings revealing blazes erupting from our residence. Even then, in the following days, I refused to accept the house was destroyed – until my brothers provided images and proof.

The Fallout

Getting to the station, I phoned the dog breeder. "Hostilities has started," I told them. "My family may not survive. Our kibbutz fell to by attackers."

The return trip involved trying to contact friends and family and at the same time guarding my young one from the terrible visuals that were emerging everywhere.

The images of that day were beyond anything we could imagine. A child from our community taken by several attackers. My former educator transported to the border in a vehicle.

People shared social media clips appearing unbelievable. A senior community member likewise abducted across the border. A young mother and her little boys – kids I recently saw – seized by militants, the fear in her eyes paralyzing.

The Long Wait

It felt to take forever for assistance to reach the area. Then started the agonizing wait for information. Later that afternoon, a single image emerged depicting escapees. My mother and father were missing.

For days and weeks, while neighbors worked with authorities document losses, we searched online platforms for signs of family members. We encountered atrocities and horrors. We didn't discover recordings showing my parent – no evidence regarding his experience.

The Developing Reality

Eventually, the situation emerged more fully. My aged family – as well as numerous community members – were abducted from our kibbutz. My parent was in his eighties, Mom was 85. Amid the terror, one in four of our neighbors were killed or captured.

Seventeen days later, my mum left captivity. Prior to leaving, she looked back and grasped the hand of her captor. "Shalom," she uttered. That gesture – a simple human connection within unspeakable violence – was shared worldwide.

Over 500 days afterward, Dad's body were returned. He was murdered just two miles from the kibbutz.

The Ongoing Pain

These experiences and the visual proof remain with me. All subsequent developments – our determined activism to save hostages, my father's horrific end, the continuing conflict, the destruction across the border – has worsened the original wound.

Both my parents were lifelong peace activists. My parent remains, as are many relatives. We recognize that animosity and retaliation don't offer any comfort from this tragedy.

I share these thoughts through tears. As time passes, talking about what happened intensifies in challenge, not easier. The children belonging to companions are still captive with the burden of the aftermath is overwhelming.

The Individual Battle

To myself, I call dwelling on these events "navigating the pain". We're used to telling our experience to fight for freedom, though grieving remains a luxury we cannot afford – now, our campaign endures.

Nothing of this account represents justification for war. I've always been against hostilities from day one. The people of Gaza endured tragedy beyond imagination.

I'm shocked by leadership actions, but I also insist that the organization shouldn't be viewed as benign resistance fighters. Having seen what they did during those hours. They abandoned their own people – causing pain for all through their violent beliefs.

The Community Split

Discussing my experience among individuals justifying what happened feels like dishonoring the lost. My community here confronts rising hostility, meanwhile our kibbutz has campaigned with the authorities throughout this period facing repeated disappointment again and again.

Across the fields, the ruin in Gaza appears clearly and emotional. It shocks me. Simultaneously, the ethical free pass that numerous people appear to offer to militant groups creates discouragement.