Since a few people are still reading I'll write an update after over a year of war. I'm speaking from a very privileged position: I live in one of the areas towards the north of Israel that has been least affected by rocket fire either from Hamas or Hezbollah, and nobody in my immediate family serves in the army, or was affected directly by Oct 7. I live in a comfortable home and am writing this from my sofa with a purring cat curled up against me. I am writing this to present my own experiences, not to compare them to anyone else's in the region, the majority of which are far more difficult than mine.
And even with that: the war is exhausting. It feels like our lives have been on hold for a year. Everyone is frayed and burned out. I burst into tears on Yom Kippur at the verse from the Psalms which begins the Kol Nidrei service, אור זרוע לצדיק ולישירי לב שמחה (Light is sown for the righteousness and happiness for the honest-hearted) - because I realised how far I, and all of us, are from feeling real happiness. Reminders of the war are everywhere and constant, whether it's pictures of the hostages and yellow ribbons literally everywhere in our town, to an impromptu wall of stickers commemorating fallen solders at the train station in Tel Aviv, to my kid's friend's young mum almost falling apart because her husband has once again been called up for reserve duty leaving her alone with three kids aged 5 and under. But, she says, I'm one of the lucky ones as he's only been gone for 4 months in total - which is relatively little. Plus the general background feeling of total impotence to change anything - despite the constant protests, 101 hostages are still in Gaza and the government has actively decided not to make a deal, the government is still in place and it's hard to even imagine how the region heals after the past year. And still the terrible images roll in day after day.
Security-wise, things feel far more intense in my area since the more intensive escalation with Hezbollah. My workplace which is a bit further north is closed as we don't have sufficient protected spaces. We have had several sirens where I live in the past few weeks, and the recent explosions of drones at the Golani base and Netanyahu's house with no prior warning leave me on edge. But far more intense is the constant plane, drone and helicopter activity overheard and regular sounds of somewhat distant explosions. It's the Sukkot holiday which means a week off school/kindergarten, the weather is beautiful. Last year we were camping in the Golan heights, but this year the north is out of bounds, so today we went hiking in a nature park a few km away. Even doing that required weighing up the odds - a friend who came with us said that there had been a lot of rocket volleys recently to that area, but then we looked at the map and decided that most of them were slightly further north so it didn't seem so unreasonable. Usually on Sukkot this nature park would be packed, but it was almost empty - nobody from further south is coming northwards these days. The lady at the desk took my name and number, just in case, and asked us to check in with her when we returned from our hike. Jokingly, I said, 'if something happens to us, tell everyone we were in favour of peace, and don't let Bibi make any political capital from it'. So we walked in beautiful nature, and heard planes and a few explosions, reached for our phones, figured out it was probably over the sea as our phones didn't seem to mention anything. After a loud one my friend reassured my kid, 'that was our rockets protecting us' - but really who knows what it was. It wasn't listed on the news. Just another explosion in this endless war.
On Thursday we will celebrate Simchat Torah, the Jewish holiday on which the war began last year (the Jewish calendar doesn't align with the Western one and the holidays fall later this year). It is a joyful holiday, capping the intensive high holiday period with dancing and singing, and the kids get little bags of snacks and sweets. It is going to be hard to walk to synagogue on Simchat Torah morning and walk into the moment in which last year I heard the words, from a friend, "Someone on the way here told me there's a war?!!", at which everything changed. Nobody feels like singing and dancing, and even my 4-year old isn't really sure whether Simchat Torah is a happy festival or a fast day.
In between, life goes on. We all work as usual, cook as usual, and try to do what we can to ease the burden for people. For me personally, the most difficult part is the uncertainty - things can and do change on a daily basis, but it's a constant guessing game to try to figure out what happened and how it affects our lives, both in the immediate sense and in the longer term.
As I said at the outset, I am incredibly privileged overall. But I'm writing this to give a picture of what it's like behind the headlines - and in fervent hope and prayer that there will be a speedy end to the violence and the time will come for us to start to heal.