🔗 Share this article 24 Months Since that October Day: As Animosity Transformed Into Trend – Why Humanity Stands as Our Only Hope It began that morning appearing completely ordinary. I journeyed together with my loved ones to collect a new puppy. Everything seemed predictable – before everything changed. Checking my device, I saw news about the border region. I dialed my parent, anticipating her cheerful voice saying they were secure. Nothing. My dad didn't respond either. Afterward, I reached my brother – his voice immediately revealed the awful reality even as he said anything. The Unfolding Horror I've observed numerous faces through news coverage whose lives were destroyed. Their expressions revealing they didn't understand their tragedy. Suddenly it was us. The torrent of violence were overwhelming, amid the destruction was still swirling. My son watched me over his laptop. I moved to reach out in private. Once we reached the city, I saw the brutal execution of someone who cared for me – a senior citizen – broadcast live by the terrorists who took over her residence. I thought to myself: "Not one of our loved ones will survive." Eventually, I witnessed recordings showing fire consuming our house. Even then, later on, I denied the home had burned – until my family shared with me images and proof. The Fallout Upon arriving at our destination, I called the dog breeder. "Hostilities has started," I told them. "My family may not survive. Our neighborhood has been taken over by militants." The ride back was spent attempting to reach loved ones while also guarding my young one from the terrible visuals that were emerging everywhere. The scenes from that day exceeded anything we could imagine. A child from our community seized by several attackers. Someone who taught me driven toward the territory using transportation. People shared digital recordings that seemed impossible. An 86-year-old friend also taken to Gaza. A young mother accompanied by her children – boys I knew well – seized by armed terrorists, the fear visible on her face paralyzing. The Long Wait It felt endless for the military to come our community. Then commenced the terrible uncertainty for updates. As time passed, a single image appeared depicting escapees. My mother and father were not among them. For days and weeks, as community members helped forensic teams identify victims, we combed digital spaces for traces of our loved ones. We encountered brutality and violence. We never found footage of my father – no clue about his final moments. The Emerging Picture Over time, the circumstances grew more distinct. My senior mother and father – together with 74 others – were abducted from the community. My father was 83, my other parent was elderly. Amid the terror, a quarter of our community members lost their lives or freedom. After more than two weeks, my parent emerged from imprisonment. As she left, she glanced behind and offered a handshake of the guard. "Shalom," she spoke. That gesture – a basic human interaction amid indescribable tragedy – was broadcast everywhere. Over 500 days following, my father's remains were returned. He was killed just two miles from where we lived. The Continuing Trauma These experiences and the visual proof remain with me. The two years since – our desperate campaign to save hostages, Dad's terrible fate, the ongoing war, the destruction across the border – has worsened the initial trauma. My family had always been peace activists. My parent remains, like many relatives. We know that animosity and retaliation cannot bring the slightest solace from our suffering. I write this amid sorrow. With each day, discussing these events intensifies in challenge, rather than simpler. The young ones belonging to companions remain hostages along with the pressure of subsequent events feels heavy. The Personal Struggle To myself, I term remembering what happened "immersed in suffering". We typically discussing events to campaign for hostage release, while mourning remains a luxury we cannot afford – and two years later, our work continues. No part of this account represents endorsement of violence. I continuously rejected hostilities since it started. The population in the territory have suffered unimaginably. I'm shocked by political choices, while maintaining that the militants cannot be considered peaceful protesters. Because I know what they did on October 7th. They abandoned their own people – ensuring suffering for everyone because of their murderous ideology. The Community Split Discussing my experience with those who defend the violence feels like failing the deceased. My local circle experiences rising hostility, meanwhile our kibbutz has campaigned versus leadership consistently while experiencing betrayal multiple times. Looking over, the ruin in Gaza can be seen and visceral. It appalls me. At the same time, the complete justification that numerous people seem willing to provide to the organizations makes me despair.