“Erev” can be translated as “evening,” but when used before an event it means “the night before” and suggests a time of transition. The erev of the attack, Yoav and I were sleeping on my relative’s kibbutz up north where we had gone to celebrate the founding of the socialist commune. The Chag HaMaim (water festival) was very beautiful, if a little reminiscent of horror movies like Midsommar or The Wicker Man.

In the morning, I woke up to the text message: “Erika here in NY. Thinking of you as I follow Twitter. Please stay safe!” I assumed it wasn't that big a deal, probably just rockets headed for our apartment in Tel Aviv. It’s amazing how much a person (and people) can get used to.

But, we know now, it wasn’t the usual level of terror.

Also there for the water festival was my cousin Hila and her family, who now live on a kibbutz in the south. Her young children have a lot of friends on Kibbutz Be’eri, one of the communities being overtaken by Palestinian militants’ Hamas. When I left for Tel Aviv, Hila and her husband were still despetraly trying to get word from Be’eri while trying to keep their kids from hearing their friends might be at gunpoint or worse.

While driving back to the city, I still hoped that all the unsubstantiated news, the nightmare images appearing on Twitter, weren't true. Often terrorist organizations, like Hamas or Hezbollah, will fake victories, the goal sometimes to impress their own communities more than terrorize Israelis. So, for a few hours, I had the comfort of thinking that the image of the hostage being carried into Gaza under a white sheet, and the idea that there were dozens of these hostages, was nothing but Hamas’s biggest wish.