Two Years Since October 7th: As Hostility Became Trend – The Reason Compassion Stands as Our Sole Hope

It began during that morning appearing perfectly normal. I journeyed accompanied by my family to welcome a furry companion. The world appeared steady – then it all shifted.

Checking my device, I saw updates about the border region. I called my mother, hoping for her reassuring tone telling me they were secure. Silence. My parent didn't respond either. Afterward, my brother answered – his speech already told me the devastating news before he explained.

The Unfolding Nightmare

I've seen numerous faces through news coverage whose existence were destroyed. Their expressions demonstrating they hadn't yet processed their tragedy. Suddenly it was us. The deluge of tragedy were building, amid the destruction was still swirling.

My child watched me from his screen. I relocated to contact people separately. Once we arrived our destination, I encountered the terrible killing of a woman from my past – an elderly woman – broadcast live by the terrorists who took over her residence.

I thought to myself: "Not a single of our loved ones would make it."

At some point, I viewed videos showing fire erupting from our house. Even then, for days afterward, I denied the building was gone – not until my family shared with me photographs and evidence.

The Fallout

Getting to our destination, I contacted the kennel owner. "Hostilities has erupted," I explained. "My family may not survive. Our neighborhood was captured by attackers."

The return trip was spent searching for community members while also protecting my son from the horrific images that circulated through networks.

The footage of that day exceeded all comprehension. A 12-year-old neighbor captured by several attackers. Someone who taught me driven toward Gaza using transportation.

People shared social media clips appearing unbelievable. My mother's elderly companion likewise abducted into the territory. A woman I knew with her two small sons – children I had played with – being rounded up by armed terrorists, the fear apparent in her expression stunning.

The Agonizing Delay

It seemed interminable for assistance to reach our community. Then started the agonizing wait for updates. In the evening, a single image circulated of survivors. My parents weren't there.

During the following period, as community members worked with authorities document losses, we scoured digital spaces for traces of those missing. We witnessed torture and mutilation. We never found recordings showing my parent – no indication regarding his experience.

The Developing Reality

Over time, the situation became clearer. My aged family – together with dozens more – became captives from their home. Dad had reached 83 years, my mother 85. Amid the terror, a quarter of our community members were killed or captured.

Seventeen days later, my mum emerged from imprisonment. As she left, she looked back and shook hands of her captor. "Hello," she uttered. That moment – a basic human interaction amid indescribable tragedy – was broadcast everywhere.

Five hundred and two days later, my parent's physical presence came back. He was murdered only kilometers from the kibbutz.

The Ongoing Pain

These tragedies and their documentation continue to haunt me. The two years since – our determined activism to free prisoners, Dad's terrible fate, the persistent violence, the destruction across the border – has compounded the original wound.

My mother and father were lifelong campaigners for reconciliation. My mother still is, similar to many relatives. We understand that hostility and vengeance don't offer even momentary relief from our suffering.

I write this through tears. Over the months, talking about what happened becomes more difficult, instead of improving. The young ones of my friends continue imprisoned and the weight of subsequent events feels heavy.

The Individual Battle

In my mind, I term focusing on the trauma "swimming in the trauma". We're used to telling our experience to advocate for hostage release, despite sorrow seems unaffordable we cannot afford – after 24 months, our work persists.

Not one word of this narrative is intended as justification for war. I have consistently opposed this conflict since it started. The population in the territory have suffered unimaginably.

I'm appalled by leadership actions, yet emphasizing that the organization cannot be considered innocent activists. Because I know what they did that day. They betrayed their own people – ensuring pain for all through their murderous ideology.

The Personal Isolation

Discussing my experience with people supporting the attackers' actions appears as failing the deceased. My local circle confronts growing prejudice, meanwhile our kibbutz has fought against its government consistently and been betrayed again and again.

Across the fields, the devastation of the territory can be seen and painful. It appalls me. Meanwhile, the complete justification that many seem to grant to the attackers causes hopelessness.