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It started on a morning looking completely ordinary. I journeyed accompanied by my family to welcome a furry companion. The world appeared steady – before it all shifted.

Glancing at my screen, I discovered updates from the border. I tried reaching my mother, expecting her cheerful voice telling me she was safe. Nothing. My father didn't respond either. Then, my brother answered – his voice instantly communicated the devastating news prior to he spoke.

The Unfolding Tragedy

I've observed numerous faces on television whose lives had collapsed. Their expressions showing they didn't understand what they'd lost. Then it became our turn. The floodwaters of tragedy were overwhelming, and the debris hadn't settled.

My son watched me from his screen. I shifted to contact people in private. Once we arrived the station, I would witness the horrific murder of someone who cared for me – an elderly woman – shown in real-time by the attackers who captured her residence.

I thought to myself: "None of our family could live through this."

At some point, I witnessed recordings revealing blazes bursting through our residence. Even then, for days afterward, I denied the home had burned – before my brothers sent me images and proof.

The Aftermath

When we reached the station, I phoned the puppy provider. "Hostilities has started," I explained. "My family may not survive. Our neighborhood fell to by terrorists."

The journey home was spent trying to contact friends and family while simultaneously guarding my young one from the terrible visuals that circulated through networks.

The images during those hours exceeded all comprehension. Our neighbor's young son taken by multiple terrorists. My former educator taken in the direction of the territory using transportation.

Individuals circulated Telegram videos that defied reality. A senior community member also taken into the territory. My friend's daughter accompanied by her children – kids I recently saw – captured by attackers, the horror in her eyes devastating.

The Agonizing Delay

It seemed to take forever for assistance to reach our community. Then commenced the terrible uncertainty for updates. As time passed, a lone picture circulated of survivors. My parents were missing.

For days and weeks, as friends worked with authorities identify victims, we scoured digital spaces for signs of our loved ones. We encountered torture and mutilation. There was no visual evidence about Dad – no clue concerning his ordeal.

The Developing Reality

Gradually, the reality became clearer. My senior mother and father – as well as 74 others – became captives from the community. My father was 83, my mother 85. Amid the terror, one in four of our community members were killed or captured.

Over two weeks afterward, my parent was released from confinement. Before departing, she turned and offered a handshake of the militant. "Peace," she uttered. That image – a simple human connection amid indescribable tragedy – was transmitted globally.

More than sixteen months following, Dad's body were recovered. He was killed just two miles from our home.

The Persistent Wound

These experiences and the recorded evidence remain with me. The two years since – our urgent efforts to free prisoners, Dad's terrible fate, the ongoing war, the devastation in Gaza – has intensified the initial trauma.

My family remained campaigners for reconciliation. Mom continues, as are other loved ones. We know that animosity and retaliation don't offer even momentary relief from our suffering.

I compose these words while crying. Over the months, sharing the experience becomes more difficult, rather than simpler. The young ones belonging to companions remain hostages along with the pressure of the aftermath remains crushing.

The Individual Battle

In my mind, I term focusing on the trauma "immersed in suffering". We're used to sharing our story to campaign for hostage release, despite sorrow feels like privilege we don't have – and two years later, our campaign persists.

No part of this story is intended as justification for war. I have consistently opposed this conflict since it started. The residents of Gaza have suffered beyond imagination.

I'm shocked by political choices, but I also insist that the organization are not benign resistance fighters. Because I know their atrocities on October 7th. They failed the population – causing suffering for everyone because of their murderous ideology.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with those who defend the violence seems like betraying my dead. The people around me faces growing prejudice, and our people back home has campaigned with the authorities throughout this period facing repeated disappointment multiple times.

From the border, the devastation across the frontier appears clearly and visceral. It shocks me. Simultaneously, the ethical free pass that many appear to offer to the attackers makes me despair.