Two Years Since October 7th: As Hate Transformed Into Trend – Why Empathy Is Our Best Hope

It unfolded on a morning appearing completely ordinary. I journeyed accompanied by my family to pick up a new puppy. Everything seemed steady – then reality shattered.

Opening my phone, I discovered news about the border region. I dialed my mother, expecting her cheerful voice explaining everything was fine. No answer. My parent didn't respond either. Next, my brother answered – his speech already told me the terrible truth prior to he said anything.

The Developing Horror

I've witnessed so many people on television whose worlds had collapsed. Their gaze revealing they didn't understand what they'd lost. Now it was me. The deluge of tragedy were rising, amid the destruction was still swirling.

My son glanced toward me over his laptop. I relocated to make calls separately. When we got to the city, I would witness the horrific murder of a woman from my past – a senior citizen – broadcast live by the terrorists who captured her home.

I recall believing: "Not a single of our friends could live through this."

At some point, I viewed videos showing fire bursting through our residence. Even then, in the following days, I denied the building was gone – not until my family provided images and proof.

The Aftermath

Getting to the city, I called the kennel owner. "A war has begun," I told them. "My family are likely gone. Our neighborhood was captured by terrorists."

The ride back involved searching for community members and at the same time protecting my son from the awful footage that spread through networks.

The footage during those hours exceeded anything we could imagine. Our neighbor's young son seized by multiple terrorists. My mathematics teacher taken in the direction of the border on a golf cart.

Friends sent digital recordings that seemed impossible. A senior community member similarly captured across the border. My friend's daughter and her little boys – kids I recently saw – being rounded up by armed terrorists, the horror visible on her face paralyzing.

The Long Wait

It seemed endless for assistance to reach the kibbutz. Then started the terrible uncertainty for updates. In the evening, a single image emerged of survivors. My family were missing.

Over many days, while neighbors worked with authorities identify victims, we combed the internet for traces of our loved ones. We saw torture and mutilation. We didn't discover footage of my father – no clue regarding his experience.

The Unfolding Truth

Over time, the reality emerged more fully. My aged family – together with numerous community members – became captives from our kibbutz. My father was 83, my mother 85. In the chaos, a quarter of the residents were murdered or abducted.

After more than two weeks, my parent left captivity. Before departing, she turned and offered a handshake of her captor. "Shalom," she uttered. That moment – a basic human interaction during indescribable tragedy – was transmitted everywhere.

Five hundred and two days later, my father's remains were recovered. He was murdered only kilometers from the kibbutz.

The Continuing Trauma

These events and the visual proof remain with me. The two years since – our determined activism to free prisoners, Dad's terrible fate, the continuing conflict, the tragedy in the territory – has intensified the initial trauma.

My mother and father were lifelong peace activists. Mom continues, as are many relatives. We recognize that hate and revenge won't provide the slightest solace from our suffering.

I compose these words while crying. With each day, discussing these events grows harder, not easier. The kids of my friends are still captive along with the pressure of what followed is overwhelming.

The Individual Battle

Personally, I describe dwelling on these events "immersed in suffering". We've become accustomed discussing events to fight for hostage release, while mourning remains a luxury we cannot afford – and two years later, our work endures.

Nothing of this account serves as support for conflict. I have consistently opposed this conflict from the beginning. The people of Gaza have suffered beyond imagination.

I'm appalled by leadership actions, but I also insist that the organization are not peaceful protesters. Because I know what they did that day. They abandoned their own people – causing tragedy on both sides through their deadly philosophy.

The Community Split

Telling my truth with those who defend the violence seems like failing the deceased. My local circle faces rising hostility, and our people back home has struggled with the authorities throughout this period and been betrayed again and again.

Across the fields, the ruin of the territory appears clearly and visceral. It horrifies me. Simultaneously, the ethical free pass that numerous people seem willing to provide to the attackers makes me despair.