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It started on a morning appearing completely ordinary. I journeyed together with my loved ones to collect a furry companion. The world appeared steady – until everything changed.

Opening my phone, I discovered reports from the border. I tried reaching my parent, hoping for her cheerful voice telling me she was safe. Silence. My father was also silent. Next, my sibling picked up – his speech already told me the terrible truth before he explained.

The Unfolding Horror

I've witnessed numerous faces in media reports whose existence were torn apart. Their eyes revealing they hadn't yet processed what they'd lost. Then it became our turn. The floodwaters of horror were rising, amid the destruction remained chaotic.

My child glanced toward me over his laptop. I relocated to make calls separately. Once we arrived the city, I encountered the horrific murder of a woman from my past – a senior citizen – shown in real-time by the militants who seized her home.

I thought to myself: "Not a single of our friends could live through this."

Eventually, I saw footage depicting flames consuming our house. Even then, for days afterward, I refused to accept the home had burned – before my brothers shared with me images and proof.

The Fallout

When we reached the station, I contacted the puppy provider. "A war has begun," I said. "My mother and father may not survive. Our neighborhood was captured by militants."

The ride back involved searching for friends and family while also protecting my son from the awful footage that were emerging everywhere.

The footage from that day transcended any possible expectation. A child from our community seized by multiple terrorists. My mathematics teacher taken in the direction of the territory on a golf cart.

People shared social media clips that defied reality. An 86-year-old friend likewise abducted to Gaza. My friend's daughter and her little boys – kids I recently saw – seized by armed terrorists, the horror apparent in her expression stunning.

The Painful Period

It felt endless for the military to come our community. Then commenced the agonizing wait for news. As time passed, a lone picture emerged of survivors. My mother and father were not among them.

During the following period, as community members worked with authorities document losses, we searched digital spaces for signs of our loved ones. We encountered torture and mutilation. There was no visual evidence about Dad – no indication about his final moments.

The Emerging Picture

Gradually, the reality emerged more fully. My aged family – together with dozens more – became captives from the community. Dad had reached 83 years, my other parent was elderly. During the violence, 25 percent of our neighbors lost their lives or freedom.

Seventeen days later, my parent left confinement. Prior to leaving, she glanced behind and grasped the hand of the militant. "Hello," she said. That moment – a simple human connection during unspeakable violence – was transmitted everywhere.

Over 500 days later, Dad's body were recovered. He was murdered a short distance from our home.

The Continuing Trauma

These experiences and the recorded evidence remain with me. Everything that followed – our determined activism for the captives, Dad's terrible fate, the persistent violence, the devastation in Gaza – has intensified the original wound.

My mother and father were lifelong campaigners for reconciliation. My parent remains, similar to other loved ones. We know that hostility and vengeance won't provide any comfort from the pain.

I compose these words amid sorrow. As time passes, talking about what happened intensifies in challenge, not easier. The young ones from my community continue imprisoned along with the pressure of what followed remains crushing.

The Individual Battle

Personally, I describe focusing on the trauma "immersed in suffering". We've become accustomed discussing events to advocate for hostage release, while mourning feels like privilege we lack – after 24 months, our work persists.

No part of this story serves as endorsement of violence. I've always been against this conflict since it started. The people of Gaza have suffered unimaginably.

I'm shocked by leadership actions, while maintaining that the attackers cannot be considered benign resistance fighters. Having seen what they did during those hours. They failed their own people – creating tragedy on both sides through their deadly philosophy.

The Social Divide

Discussing my experience among individuals justifying the violence appears as dishonoring the lost. My local circle faces rising hostility, while my community there has struggled against its government consistently and been betrayed multiple times.

Looking over, the ruin across the frontier is visible and painful. It appalls me. Meanwhile, the moral carte blanche that numerous people seem to grant to the attackers causes hopelessness.