24 Months Following the 7th of October: When Hate Became The Norm – The Reason Humanity Remains Our Only Hope

It started on a morning that seemed completely ordinary. I rode together with my loved ones to collect a new puppy. Life felt predictable – then everything changed.

Opening my phone, I discovered updates concerning the frontier. I tried reaching my mum, hoping for her cheerful voice telling me they were secure. No answer. My parent couldn't be reached. Next, my sibling picked up – his voice already told me the awful reality prior to he explained.

The Emerging Horror

I've witnessed countless individuals on television whose lives were destroyed. Their gaze showing they couldn't comprehend their tragedy. Suddenly it was us. The floodwaters of violence were building, with the wreckage was still swirling.

My child watched me from his screen. I relocated to make calls separately. Once we got to the station, I would witness the brutal execution of a woman from my past – almost 80 years old – shown in real-time by the militants who captured her residence.

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

Eventually, I saw footage depicting flames erupting from our family home. Even then, in the following days, I couldn't believe the home had burned – before my brothers sent me visual confirmation.

The Aftermath

When we reached the city, I phoned the dog breeder. "Hostilities has started," I said. "My family may not survive. My community was captured by attackers."

The journey home involved trying to contact community members while simultaneously shielding my child from the awful footage that were emerging across platforms.

The footage of that day exceeded any possible expectation. Our neighbor's young son captured by several attackers. My former educator taken in the direction of the territory using transportation.

Individuals circulated Telegram videos that seemed impossible. A senior community member likewise abducted to Gaza. A woman I knew with her two small sons – boys I knew well – seized by militants, the terror visible on her face devastating.

The Painful Period

It appeared to take forever for help to arrive the kibbutz. Then began the terrible uncertainty for news. As time passed, a single image appeared showing those who made it. My mother and father were not among them.

Over many days, as community members assisted investigators identify victims, we scoured online platforms for evidence of our loved ones. We witnessed torture and mutilation. There was no recordings showing my parent – no indication about his final moments.

The Emerging Picture

Over time, the reality emerged more fully. My elderly parents – together with numerous community members – became captives from our kibbutz. My father was 83, my mother 85. Amid the terror, 25 percent of the residents were killed or captured.

Seventeen days later, my mother was released from confinement. Before departing, she looked back and offered a handshake of the militant. "Hello," she spoke. That gesture – an elemental act of humanity amid unimaginable horror – was transmitted worldwide.

Over 500 days following, Dad's body came back. He died just two miles from our home.

The Ongoing Pain

These experiences and the visual proof continue to haunt me. Everything that followed – our urgent efforts for the captives, Dad's terrible fate, the persistent violence, the devastation in Gaza – has worsened the initial trauma.

My mother and father had always been advocates for peace. My parent remains, like other loved ones. We recognize that animosity and retaliation cannot bring any comfort from our suffering.

I write this through tears. As time passes, discussing these events intensifies in challenge, not easier. The kids belonging to companions are still captive along with the pressure of what followed feels heavy.

The Internal Conflict

To myself, I call remembering what happened "navigating the pain". We typically discussing events to campaign for freedom, though grieving feels like privilege we lack – after 24 months, our efforts continues.

Nothing of this story is intended as endorsement of violence. I have consistently opposed hostilities from day one. The residents of Gaza experienced pain beyond imagination.

I'm appalled by political choices, but I also insist that the organization are not innocent activists. Since I witnessed their actions on October 7th. They failed their own people – causing pain for all due to their violent beliefs.

The Personal Isolation

Telling my truth among individuals justifying the violence appears as dishonoring the lost. The people around me experiences unprecedented antisemitism, meanwhile our kibbutz has struggled against its government throughout this period while experiencing betrayal multiple times.

Across the fields, the devastation across the frontier can be seen and visceral. It shocks me. Simultaneously, the moral carte blanche that many seem willing to provide to the organizations creates discouragement.