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It began on a morning that seemed entirely routine. I rode accompanied by my family to welcome a furry companion. The world appeared steady – before it all shifted.

Checking my device, I saw updates about the border region. I tried reaching my mother, expecting her reassuring tone explaining they were secure. Nothing. My dad was also silent. Next, I reached my brother – his voice immediately revealed the awful reality even as he explained.

The Developing Tragedy

I've witnessed countless individuals in media reports whose worlds were destroyed. Their eyes revealing they hadn't yet processed their tragedy. Then it became our turn. The deluge of violence were building, with the wreckage remained chaotic.

My young one looked at me from his screen. I shifted to reach out separately. By the time we got to the station, I saw the terrible killing of my childhood caregiver – an elderly woman – shown in real-time by the terrorists who took over her residence.

I recall believing: "Not a single of our family will survive."

Eventually, I witnessed recordings showing fire consuming our family home. Nonetheless, for days afterward, I refused to accept the home had burned – not until my family sent me images and proof.

The Fallout

Getting to our destination, I phoned the dog breeder. "Hostilities has erupted," I explained. "My family are probably dead. Our neighborhood fell to by terrorists."

The journey home consisted of searching for loved ones while also protecting my son from the awful footage that were emerging through networks.

The footage during those hours exceeded any possible expectation. A 12-year-old neighbor captured by multiple terrorists. Someone who taught me taken in the direction of Gaza on a golf cart.

People shared digital recordings appearing unbelievable. My mother's elderly companion likewise abducted across the border. A young mother with her two small sons – boys I knew well – captured by armed terrorists, the terror in her eyes stunning.

The Agonizing Delay

It appeared interminable for the military to come the area. Then began the agonizing wait for news. In the evening, a lone picture appeared depicting escapees. My family were missing.

During the following period, as friends assisted investigators locate the missing, we scoured digital spaces for evidence of family members. We saw atrocities and horrors. We didn't discover visual evidence about Dad – no indication concerning his ordeal.

The Unfolding Truth

Gradually, the reality grew more distinct. My aged family – along with numerous community members – were abducted from their home. Dad had reached 83 years, my mother 85. In the chaos, 25 percent of our neighbors lost their lives or freedom.

After more than two weeks, my parent was released from confinement. Prior to leaving, she glanced behind and shook hands of the guard. "Peace," she uttered. That moment – a basic human interaction during unimaginable horror – was broadcast everywhere.

Five hundred and two days following, Dad's body came back. He died just two miles from our home.

The Persistent Wound

These events and their documentation continue to haunt me. All subsequent developments – our determined activism to free prisoners, Dad's terrible fate, the ongoing war, the destruction across the border – has compounded the primary pain.

My family had always been advocates for peace. My mother still is, like many relatives. We know that animosity and retaliation cannot bring any comfort from the pain.

I share these thoughts through tears. Over the months, discussing these events intensifies in challenge, rather than simpler. The young ones from my community remain hostages with the burden of the aftermath is overwhelming.

The Internal Conflict

To myself, I describe remembering what happened "immersed in suffering". We're used to discussing events to fight for the captives, though grieving remains a luxury we cannot afford – and two years later, our efforts continues.

No part of this account serves as support for conflict. I have consistently opposed this conflict since it started. The people across the border experienced pain unimaginably.

I'm appalled by leadership actions, yet emphasizing that the organization are not peaceful protesters. Since I witnessed their atrocities on October 7th. They betrayed the population – creating tragedy on both sides because of their deadly philosophy.

The Personal Isolation

Telling my truth with people supporting what happened seems like dishonoring the lost. My community here experiences unprecedented antisemitism, while my community there has fought against its government throughout this period and been betrayed repeatedly.

From the border, the destruction across the frontier is visible and visceral. It appalls me. Meanwhile, the complete justification that many appear to offer to the attackers causes hopelessness.