Two Long Years Following October 7th: When Animosity Became The Norm – Why Empathy Stands as Our Only Hope

It began during that morning appearing perfectly normal. I journeyed with my husband and son to welcome a furry companion. Life felt predictable – then it all shifted.

Glancing at my screen, I saw reports from the border. I called my mum, hoping for her cheerful voice saying everything was fine. Nothing. My parent didn't respond either. Then, my brother answered – his tone immediately revealed the terrible truth prior to he spoke.

The Emerging Tragedy

I've observed numerous faces on television whose worlds had collapsed. Their expressions demonstrating they hadn't yet processed what they'd lost. Then it became our turn. The deluge of horror were building, with the wreckage was still swirling.

My child watched me from his screen. I moved to contact people separately. When we reached our destination, I would witness the horrific murder of my childhood caregiver – a senior citizen – shown in real-time by the attackers who seized her residence.

I thought to myself: "Not a single of our friends would make it."

Later, I viewed videos depicting flames consuming our family home. Even then, in the following days, I denied the house was destroyed – until my siblings sent me photographs and evidence.

The Consequences

When we reached the city, I phoned the kennel owner. "Hostilities has begun," I explained. "My mother and father are probably dead. My community has been taken over by attackers."

The journey home was spent trying to contact community members while also protecting my son from the terrible visuals that were emerging through networks.

The scenes from that day were beyond any possible expectation. A 12-year-old neighbor seized by armed militants. My former educator transported to the border using transportation.

People shared digital recordings that seemed impossible. My mother's elderly companion similarly captured into the territory. My friend's daughter with her two small sons – children I had played with – captured by armed terrorists, the fear in her eyes devastating.

The Long Wait

It seemed endless for the military to come the area. Then started the painful anticipation for news. Later that afternoon, a lone picture emerged of survivors. My family were not among them.

Over many days, while neighbors assisted investigators document losses, we combed digital spaces for evidence of our loved ones. We witnessed brutality and violence. There was no footage of my father – no evidence concerning his ordeal.

The Emerging Picture

Over time, the situation emerged more fully. My senior mother and father – together with numerous community members – became captives from their home. My father was 83, my mother 85. During the violence, a quarter of the residents were murdered or abducted.

Seventeen days later, my mother was released from captivity. Prior to leaving, she turned and offered a handshake of the militant. "Shalom," she uttered. That gesture – a simple human connection during indescribable tragedy – was transmitted worldwide.

More than sixteen months following, my father's remains were recovered. He was killed a short distance from our home.

The Ongoing Pain

These experiences and the visual proof remain with me. All subsequent developments – our desperate campaign for the captives, my parent's awful death, the persistent violence, the devastation in Gaza – has compounded the initial trauma.

My mother and father remained advocates for peace. Mom continues, like other loved ones. We know that hostility and vengeance won't provide even momentary relief from the pain.

I share these thoughts while crying. Over the months, discussing these events becomes more difficult, instead of improving. The children of my friends are still captive and the weight of subsequent events feels heavy.

The Internal Conflict

In my mind, I describe remembering what happened "immersed in suffering". We've become accustomed discussing events to advocate for freedom, while mourning remains a luxury we cannot afford – and two years later, our efforts persists.

No part of this narrative represents justification for war. I have consistently opposed hostilities from the beginning. The population of Gaza experienced pain terribly.

I'm appalled by leadership actions, while maintaining that the organization are not innocent activists. Having seen what they did on October 7th. They failed the population – ensuring suffering for everyone through their violent beliefs.

The Personal Isolation

Telling my truth with those who defend the attackers' actions seems like failing the deceased. My community here faces unprecedented antisemitism, meanwhile our kibbutz has fought with the authorities throughout this period while experiencing betrayal repeatedly.

From the border, the destruction in Gaza can be seen and visceral. It horrifies me. At the same time, the ethical free pass that numerous people appear to offer to militant groups causes hopelessness.