Two Long Years After October 7th: As Hate Turned Into Trend – Why Compassion Remains Our Sole Hope

It started that morning that seemed entirely routine. I journeyed accompanied by my family to pick up a furry companion. Everything seemed steady – then everything changed.

Checking my device, I saw reports about the border region. I tried reaching my mother, hoping for her calm response saying everything was fine. No answer. My parent was also silent. Afterward, my sibling picked up – his tone already told me the terrible truth prior to he said anything.

The Developing Horror

I've witnessed countless individuals through news coverage whose existence had collapsed. Their gaze showing they couldn't comprehend their loss. Then it became our turn. The deluge of violence were building, amid the destruction hadn't settled.

My young one glanced toward me across the seat. I shifted to make calls alone. Once we reached the station, I would witness the brutal execution of my childhood caregiver – an elderly woman – broadcast live by the attackers who took over her residence.

I recall believing: "None of our friends will survive."

Eventually, I viewed videos depicting flames erupting from our residence. Even then, for days afterward, I denied the home had burned – before my siblings provided images and proof.

The Consequences

Upon arriving at the city, I phoned the puppy provider. "Hostilities has started," I explained. "My parents may not survive. Our neighborhood was captured by militants."

The return trip consisted of trying to contact loved ones while simultaneously protecting my son from the horrific images that spread through networks.

The scenes during those hours transcended any possible expectation. A 12-year-old neighbor captured by armed militants. My former educator driven toward the border on a golf cart.

Individuals circulated Telegram videos appearing unbelievable. My mother's elderly companion likewise abducted into the territory. A woman I knew and her little boys – kids I recently saw – captured by attackers, the fear visible on her face paralyzing.

The Agonizing Delay

It seemed interminable for the military to come the area. Then commenced the agonizing wait for updates. In the evening, a single image circulated of survivors. My family were not among them.

Over many days, while neighbors worked with authorities identify victims, we searched digital spaces for traces of our loved ones. We witnessed torture and mutilation. We never found recordings showing my parent – no indication regarding his experience.

The Emerging Picture

Gradually, the circumstances became clearer. My senior mother and father – together with dozens more – were abducted from our kibbutz. My parent was in his eighties, my mother 85. Amid the terror, one in four of our community members were killed or captured.

After more than two weeks, my parent left captivity. As she left, she looked back and shook hands of the guard. "Hello," she spoke. That image – a simple human connection during unspeakable violence – was broadcast worldwide.

More than sixteen months afterward, Dad's body were returned. He was murdered a short distance from the kibbutz.

The Continuing Trauma

These events and the recorded evidence continue to haunt me. All subsequent developments – our desperate campaign for the captives, my father's horrific end, the persistent violence, the destruction across the border – has intensified the primary pain.

Both my parents remained campaigners for reconciliation. Mom continues, as are other loved ones. We recognize that hostility and vengeance don't offer any comfort from the pain.

I share these thoughts while crying. With each day, sharing the experience grows harder, rather than simpler. The young ones belonging to companions continue imprisoned along with the pressure of the aftermath remains crushing.

The Individual Battle

To myself, I term dwelling on these events "navigating the pain". We typically sharing our story to campaign for freedom, despite sorrow remains a luxury we cannot afford – now, our campaign endures.

No part of this story represents endorsement of violence. I have consistently opposed hostilities from the beginning. The population in the territory endured tragedy beyond imagination.

I am horrified by government decisions, but I also insist that the organization cannot be considered benign resistance fighters. Having seen what they did on October 7th. They abandoned their own people – causing pain for all through their violent beliefs.

The Social Divide

Telling my truth among individuals justifying the attackers' actions feels like betraying my dead. The people around me experiences unprecedented antisemitism, meanwhile our kibbutz has struggled against its government throughout this period facing repeated disappointment again and again.

Looking over, the destruction across the frontier can be seen and painful. It appalls me. Meanwhile, the moral carte blanche that various individuals seem to grant to militant groups causes hopelessness.