🔗 Share this article Two Years Following the 7th of October: When Hostility Became Fashion – The Reason Humanity Stands as Our Sole Hope It started during that morning looking entirely routine. I journeyed with my husband and son to pick up a new puppy. Everything seemed predictable – before it all shifted. Opening my phone, I noticed news from the border. I tried reaching my mum, anticipating her cheerful voice explaining everything was fine. No answer. My parent was also silent. Afterward, my sibling picked up – his speech already told me the terrible truth before he said anything. The Emerging Horror I've seen so many people on television whose existence were destroyed. Their eyes demonstrating they didn't understand their tragedy. Now it was me. The floodwaters of tragedy were overwhelming, with the wreckage hadn't settled. My son glanced toward me across the seat. I shifted to reach out separately. By the time we got to the station, I encountered the brutal execution of my childhood caregiver – a senior citizen – as it was streamed by the attackers who seized her house. I thought to myself: "Not one of our friends could live through this." Later, I saw footage depicting flames erupting from our residence. Nonetheless, for days afterward, I refused to accept the home had burned – until my brothers provided visual confirmation. The Aftermath Getting to the city, I contacted the dog breeder. "Conflict has begun," I explained. "My family are probably dead. Our kibbutz has been taken over by terrorists." The return trip involved trying to contact loved ones and at the same time guarding my young one from the awful footage that circulated across platforms. The footage during those hours were beyond any possible expectation. A 12-year-old neighbor captured by several attackers. My mathematics teacher transported to Gaza on a golf cart. Friends sent Telegram videos appearing unbelievable. An 86-year-old friend likewise abducted into the territory. My friend's daughter and her little boys – children I had played with – captured by armed terrorists, the fear in her eyes devastating. The Agonizing Delay It appeared interminable for the military to come the area. Then commenced the painful anticipation for updates. In the evening, a single image circulated depicting escapees. My family were missing. Over many days, as friends assisted investigators locate the missing, we combed online platforms for signs of family members. We encountered torture and mutilation. We never found footage of my father – no clue concerning his ordeal. The Developing Reality Eventually, the situation emerged more fully. My aged family – together with 74 others – became captives from their home. My father was 83, Mom was 85. Amid the terror, one in four of our neighbors were murdered or abducted. Over two weeks afterward, my parent was released from imprisonment. Prior to leaving, she glanced behind and offered a handshake of the militant. "Peace," she uttered. That gesture – a basic human interaction amid unspeakable violence – was transmitted globally. More than sixteen months later, Dad's body came back. He was killed a short distance from our home. The Persistent Wound These events and the recorded evidence remain with me. The two years since – our determined activism for the captives, my father's horrific end, the ongoing war, the devastation in Gaza – has compounded the original wound. Both my parents were lifelong campaigners for reconciliation. My mother still is, as are many relatives. We understand that animosity and retaliation cannot bring any comfort from the pain. I share these thoughts while crying. Over the months, discussing these events becomes more difficult, rather than simpler. The young ones belonging to companions continue imprisoned and the weight of subsequent events feels heavy. The Individual Battle To myself, I call dwelling on these events "swimming in the trauma". We're used to discussing events to fight for freedom, while mourning remains a luxury we lack – now, our work continues. Nothing of this account is intended as justification for war. I've always been against this conflict since it started. The residents of Gaza have suffered terribly. I am horrified by government decisions, but I also insist that the attackers shouldn't be viewed as innocent activists. Having seen what they did during those hours. They failed the population – ensuring tragedy on both sides because of their violent beliefs. The Personal Isolation Telling my truth among individuals justifying what happened seems like dishonoring the lost. The people around me faces rising hostility, and our people back home has fought versus leadership for two years while experiencing betrayal multiple times. Looking over, the destruction in Gaza can be seen and painful. It appalls me. At the same time, the moral carte blanche that many appear to offer to militant groups creates discouragement.