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It started that morning appearing entirely routine. I was traveling with my husband and son to pick up our new dog. Life felt predictable – until reality shattered.

Glancing at my screen, I discovered updates about the border region. I dialed my mother, expecting her cheerful voice telling me they were secure. Nothing. My dad couldn't be reached. Then, my brother answered – his tone instantly communicated the awful reality even as he explained.

The Emerging Tragedy

I've witnessed so many people through news coverage whose worlds were destroyed. Their gaze revealing they hadn't yet processed their tragedy. Then it became our turn. The floodwaters of violence were overwhelming, amid the destruction was still swirling.

My young one watched me over his laptop. I moved to reach out alone. By the time we reached the station, I encountered the terrible killing of a woman from my past – almost 80 years old – broadcast live by the attackers who captured her house.

I remember thinking: "Not a single of our friends could live through this."

Eventually, I witnessed recordings showing fire erupting from our family home. Even then, later on, I denied the house was destroyed – until my brothers sent me photographs and evidence.

The Aftermath

When we reached our destination, I contacted the dog breeder. "Conflict has erupted," I explained. "My mother and father may not survive. Our kibbutz was captured by attackers."

The journey home consisted of searching for loved ones and at the same time guarding my young one from the awful footage that circulated through networks.

The images during those hours were beyond anything we could imagine. Our neighbor's young son seized by several attackers. My mathematics teacher taken in the direction of the territory in a vehicle.

People shared social media clips that seemed impossible. An 86-year-old friend also taken across the border. My friend's daughter with her two small sons – kids I recently saw – seized by armed terrorists, the fear apparent in her expression devastating.

The Painful Period

It felt interminable for help to arrive the area. Then started the agonizing wait for information. As time passed, a single image circulated depicting escapees. My parents were not among them.

Over many days, while neighbors helped forensic teams locate the missing, we combed digital spaces for evidence of family members. We encountered atrocities and horrors. We didn't discover footage of my father – no indication about his final moments.

The Emerging Picture

Eventually, the situation became clearer. My senior mother and father – together with 74 others – were taken hostage from our kibbutz. My father was 83, Mom was 85. In the chaos, 25 percent of our neighbors lost their lives or freedom.

Seventeen days later, my mother was released from confinement. Before departing, she turned and grasped the hand of the militant. "Peace," she said. That gesture – a basic human interaction during unimaginable horror – was broadcast everywhere.

Over 500 days afterward, my parent's physical presence were returned. He was murdered only kilometers from our home.

The Ongoing Pain

These events and the visual proof still terrorize me. Everything that followed – our urgent efforts to free prisoners, my parent's awful death, the continuing conflict, the devastation in Gaza – has compounded the primary pain.

Both my parents were lifelong peace activists. Mom continues, as are many relatives. We understand that hostility and vengeance don't offer any comfort from this tragedy.

I compose these words while crying. With each day, discussing these events grows harder, not easier. The children belonging to companions are still captive along with the pressure of subsequent events is overwhelming.

The Personal Struggle

To myself, I term dwelling on these events "immersed in suffering". We're used to telling our experience to campaign for hostage release, despite sorrow feels like privilege we cannot afford – after 24 months, our work persists.

Nothing of this narrative is intended as justification for war. I continuously rejected this conflict since it started. The population of Gaza experienced pain unimaginably.

I am horrified by leadership actions, yet emphasizing that the organization cannot be considered innocent activists. Having seen what they did that day. They abandoned their own people – ensuring suffering for everyone because of their murderous ideology.

The Social Divide

Discussing my experience with those who defend the attackers' actions seems like failing the deceased. The people around me experiences growing prejudice, and our people back home has campaigned with the authorities consistently while experiencing betrayal again and again.

From the border, the devastation across the frontier appears clearly and emotional. It horrifies me. At the same time, the complete justification that numerous people appear to offer to militant groups makes me despair.