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It began during that morning appearing completely ordinary. I rode with my husband and son to collect a new puppy. The world appeared predictable – before reality shattered.

Glancing at my screen, I noticed reports about the border region. I dialed my mother, expecting her calm response telling me everything was fine. Nothing. My dad was also silent. Then, my brother answered – his voice immediately revealed the terrible truth prior to he explained.

The Emerging Nightmare

I've witnessed countless individuals in media reports whose existence were torn apart. Their eyes revealing they didn't understand their loss. Then it became our turn. The torrent of horror were building, and the debris was still swirling.

My son glanced toward me across the seat. I shifted to make calls alone. By the time we reached our destination, I would witness the brutal execution of a woman from my past – a senior citizen – shown in real-time by the attackers who took over her house.

I thought to myself: "Not one of our friends would make it."

Later, I saw footage showing fire erupting from our family home. Even then, later on, I refused to accept the building was gone – until my brothers shared with me images and proof.

The Aftermath

Upon arriving at the city, I contacted the kennel owner. "Hostilities has erupted," I explained. "My family may not survive. Our neighborhood fell to by militants."

The ride back consisted of searching for community members while also guarding my young one from the awful footage that circulated through networks.

The scenes of that day exceeded all comprehension. A 12-year-old neighbor seized by multiple terrorists. Someone who taught me transported to Gaza on a golf cart.

Individuals circulated Telegram videos that defied reality. A senior community member also taken to Gaza. A young mother accompanied by her children – boys I knew well – being rounded up by militants, the horror apparent in her expression stunning.

The Long Wait

It seemed to take forever for help to arrive the area. Then started the agonizing wait for news. In the evening, a lone picture appeared showing those who made it. My family were missing.

Over many days, while neighbors worked with authorities locate the missing, we scoured the internet for evidence of our loved ones. We encountered brutality and violence. There was no footage of my father – no evidence regarding his experience.

The Emerging Picture

Gradually, the reality became clearer. My aged family – as well as 74 others – were taken hostage from the community. Dad had reached 83 years, my other parent was elderly. During the violence, a quarter of our community members were killed or captured.

After more than two weeks, my mum was released from captivity. As she left, she glanced behind and grasped the hand of the militant. "Shalom," she uttered. That image – an elemental act of humanity during unspeakable violence – was shared everywhere.

Over 500 days afterward, my father's remains came back. He was killed just two miles from where we lived.

The Continuing Trauma

These events and the recorded evidence remain with me. Everything that followed – our desperate campaign to free prisoners, Dad's terrible fate, the ongoing war, the devastation in Gaza – has intensified the primary pain.

My mother and father were lifelong advocates for peace. My parent remains, like many relatives. We recognize that animosity and retaliation cannot bring any comfort from this tragedy.

I write this through tears. With each day, talking about what happened becomes more difficult, instead of improving. The children from my community remain hostages and the weight of what followed is overwhelming.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I describe dwelling on these events "swimming in the trauma". We typically discussing events to campaign for freedom, despite sorrow remains a luxury we don't have – and two years later, our campaign continues.

Not one word of this account is intended as endorsement of violence. I've always been against the fighting from day one. The residents in the territory experienced pain terribly.

I'm appalled by leadership actions, while maintaining that the militants are not peaceful protesters. Because I know their atrocities that day. They abandoned the population – ensuring pain for all because of their deadly philosophy.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with people supporting the violence appears as dishonoring the lost. My local circle experiences rising hostility, while my community there has campaigned against its government throughout this period facing repeated disappointment again and again.

Across the fields, the ruin in Gaza appears clearly and painful. It appalls me. Meanwhile, the moral carte blanche that many appear to offer to the organizations creates discouragement.