Two Years Following October 7th: When Hostility Transformed Into Fashion – Why Humanity Stands as Our Sole Hope

It unfolded during that morning that seemed perfectly normal. I rode with my husband and son to pick up a new puppy. Life felt steady – until it all shifted.

Checking my device, I discovered reports about the border region. I called my parent, hoping for her reassuring tone explaining she was safe. Silence. My father was also silent. Then, I reached my brother – his voice immediately revealed the terrible truth before he explained.

The Emerging Horror

I've seen countless individuals through news coverage whose worlds had collapsed. Their gaze demonstrating they hadn't yet processed what they'd lost. Now it was me. The deluge of horror were rising, amid the destruction hadn't settled.

My young one watched me across the seat. I moved to reach out in private. Once we reached our destination, I saw the brutal execution of a woman from my past – almost 80 years old – broadcast live by the terrorists who captured her home.

I thought to myself: "Not one of our family will survive."

Later, I witnessed recordings depicting flames bursting through our residence. Even then, later on, I couldn't believe the house was destroyed – not until my family shared with me images and proof.

The Consequences

Getting to the city, I contacted the dog breeder. "Hostilities has started," I said. "My mother and father may not survive. My community has been taken over by attackers."

The ride back involved searching for friends and family while also shielding my child from the terrible visuals that circulated through networks.

The footage during those hours exceeded all comprehension. A child from our community taken by multiple terrorists. My former educator driven toward the territory using transportation.

Individuals circulated digital recordings appearing unbelievable. My mother's elderly companion likewise abducted to Gaza. My friend's daughter and her little boys – boys I knew well – being rounded up by militants, the horror visible on her face stunning.

The Long Wait

It felt to take forever for the military to come the area. Then began the painful anticipation for news. As time passed, one photograph circulated depicting escapees. My parents were missing.

Over many days, as friends assisted investigators document losses, we searched the internet for signs of family members. We witnessed torture and mutilation. We never found recordings showing my parent – no clue about his final moments.

The Emerging Picture

Over time, the situation became clearer. My aged family – as well as dozens more – were taken hostage from their home. My father was 83, my mother 85. Amid the terror, 25 percent of our neighbors lost their lives or freedom.

Seventeen days later, my parent emerged from imprisonment. Prior to leaving, she turned and grasped the hand of the militant. "Peace," she said. That moment – an elemental act of humanity amid unimaginable horror – was shared worldwide.

Over 500 days following, my father's remains were recovered. He was murdered only kilometers from where we lived.

The Persistent Wound

These experiences and the visual proof still terrorize me. Everything that followed – our urgent efforts to free prisoners, my father's horrific end, the ongoing war, the destruction across the border – has compounded the original wound.

My family had always been peace activists. My mother still is, similar to many relatives. We recognize that animosity and retaliation don't offer any comfort from the pain.

I compose these words through tears. As time passes, discussing these events grows harder, instead of improving. The young ones belonging to companions remain hostages along with the pressure of the aftermath feels heavy.

The Internal Conflict

In my mind, I call dwelling on these events "navigating the pain". We typically sharing our story to advocate for freedom, despite sorrow remains a luxury we don't have – after 24 months, our efforts persists.

Nothing of this account is intended as justification for war. I have consistently opposed hostilities since it started. The people in the territory experienced pain unimaginably.

I'm shocked by government decisions, yet emphasizing that the militants are not innocent activists. Because I know their atrocities during those hours. They failed the community – creating tragedy on both sides through their violent beliefs.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with those who defend the attackers' actions appears as dishonoring the lost. My local circle experiences unprecedented antisemitism, meanwhile our kibbutz has struggled against its government consistently facing repeated disappointment again and again.

From the border, the devastation in Gaza appears clearly and visceral. It appalls me. Simultaneously, the moral carte blanche that various individuals seem to grant to the organizations causes hopelessness.