When you visit Israel, one of the biggest cultural dynamics you will notice is the impatience of drivers.
The drivers here are so impatient that they beep at the car in front of them at a red light before the light even turns green.
Pre-emptive beeping.
Fun Fact: in Israel the light turns yellow again before it turns green.
Which means that as soon as that light turns from red to yellow, you are being met with a symphony of horns if your foot ain’t already on the gas.
When I first moved here, I was especially fascinated by the beeping at cars that clearly had nowhere to go.
What was the point?
I couldn’t figure it out. If you can see that the car in front of you literally cannot move, why are you beeping at them?
So I asked my dad who grew up in Israel.
He answered, “It’s just nerves.”
Hmm I thought to myself – how could an entire country be nervous?
The war lasted twelve days.
Twelve days of lockdown. Twelve days of missiles, rockets, and drones. Twelve days of running to the safe room every few hours. Twelve days of nerves.
I am fascinated by how well we all handled it.
I didn’t witness hysteria, hopelessness, or anger. There was no space for any of that.
Every single Israeli understood that this was a necessary war. If we didn’t attack Iran, they would have a nuke by now and it would be halfway to Israel – wiping us out along with our neighboring countries.
We had a mission: get through this war and to the other side.
Sleep when you can. Get some sun in between sirens. Keep the kids entertained. Drink coffee. Make it to the bomb shelter on time. Watch the news.
Oh, and don’t forget to breathe.
Feelings aren’t welcome here. They’re too dangerous.
Must. Stay. Strong.
But then there were moments….
Beautiful moments.
Moments of connection, of shared space, of quality time….
The Landlord
My landlord is a man in his late 60s named Yehuda. He, like most Israelis, has quite a callous to life.
He kind of reminds me of my dad. Loving and generous deep down but somewhat paranoid and distant with people other than his kids.
Yehudah owns a huge property and rents out several homes on it. It’s really nice because it creates a community.
Rafi and I live in Yehudah’s basement which he renovated into a beautiful 2-bedroom apartment.
I’ve always wanted him to like me.
Probably daddy issues mixed with the instinct to preserve a home. But nevertheless, he is so hot & cold that I stopped trying months ago.
We say hello and goodbye when we see each other. I figured that’s how it would stay.
My other neighbors confirmed that that’s the best you’ll ever get out of him.
Until we found ourselves cooped up in a safe room together for two weeks.
Over those two weeks, I watched Yehudah soften. I never even realized that his eyes crinkle when he smiles until we were huddled in Rafi’s room together.
He joked with the kids. He fixed my broken fan. He let us use his pool. He watched the Israeli news on his phone and told us when it was safe to come out.
He looked after us. And he let his guard down.
The Brother
Almost 8 years ago, I got sober by going through the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.
The 9th step is making amends to all those who were harmed as a result of my addiction.
Soooo basically that was everyone I knew.
It took me 6 months to have an amends conversation with every single family member, friend, co-worker, and boss I had caused harm to with my drug use.
My younger brother, Yoel, was one of my hardest amends.
While I was running the streets and getting arrested, Yoel was getting married and having daughters.
He cut me out of his life.
Back then I found that to be very rude. But as my mind cleared and I got a more accurate perception of how horribly disappointed he must have felt, I begrudgingly admitted that he was justified.
Yoel had already been living in Israel when I got sober so I asked him if we could meet over Zoom.
We hadn’t spoken in years. He agreed.
I remember sitting in the recovery house I was living in, 6 months sober, telling my little brother how sorry I was that I wasn’t there for him during such a pivotal time in his life.
I felt ashamed. But I also knew I was doing the right thing and held my head high.
He graciously accepted the amends but was also very clear that he wasn’t ready to have a relationship with me.
Luckily, I had strong spiritual guidance and was advised to just let him be.
A few months later, Yoel called me on my birthday for the first time in years. I cried when I saw his name pop up on my phone.
A few months after that, when I called him to tell him that I was pregnant with Rafi, I remember his demeanor towards me shifting.
Yoel has been family oriented since he was 20.
So me getting married and having a baby allowed for him to let his guard down a bit more. We could now relate to each other.
We spent the next few years building our relationship back up. He visited America every year and we started spending some more time together.
When I told him I was going to make Aliyah, he was ecstatic.
He welcomed Rafi and I at the airport and supported the hell out of us as we got settled.
Over the next few months, we figured each other out as we became local siblings for the first time in adulthood.
Fast forward a bit more and we find ourselves getting through a war together.
“Well, my conference in Tel-Aviv got canceled,” he texted. “I have a rare open day. Wanna grab coffee?”
And so in the midst of sirens and missiles, we sat and had coffee for 3 hours. We talked about deep subjects and shared our struggles with each other.
A few days later, he spontaneously stopped by just to chat.
I am so grateful to be a sober, steady person who can contribute and offer support to my loved ones.
You only know what a gift that is if you’ve experienced losing it.
The war created time and space. No one is busier than Yoel. But we were forced to slow things down as life got canceled and it allowed us to connect.
The Father
One night when I was about 9 years old, I was woken up to a very loud, scary sound in the basement.
My parents were rocky so my mom was sleeping with me. We looked at each other scared.
Someone was in the house.
I got up and cracked my bedroom door open to peek out.
All of a sudden, my dad emerged from his bedroom in his tightey whiteys holding a pistol like James fucking Bond and walked quietly and carefully down the steps to investigate.
I was blown away by his steadiness. He wasn’t scared. At all.
The loud noise ended up being an animal and we were safe.
But I’ll never forget that night because even though we had a difficult relationship, I realized in that moment that my dad was the bravest man I knew and I was safe with him.
Even though my dad now lives five minutes from me (and we have a great relationship), he happened to be visiting the States when the war hit.
So, he wasn’t even here. Yet I felt closer to him.
My dad was in the IDF and served as a paratrooper in the war of ‘73.
This man literally jumped out of airplanes to fight bad guys.
His experiences triggered some paranoia and a very calculating mind.
Without understanding war, it’s all very annoying – especially when it translates into your dad lecturing you on everything you do.
But I have a renewed sense of respect for him now.
I spent the war in safe rooms. He spent it in combat.
Who the hell am I to judge the effect that had?
Of course he doesn’t trust people.
Of course he struggled to connect emotionally.
Of course he was always thinking ten steps ahead and couldn’t just relax and have fun.
Of course he saw what could go wrong all the time
Of course.
The Aftermath
On Tuesday June 24th at 6:45am, we woke up to sirens. As we huddled in the safe room and checked the news, we were shocked to learn that there had been a ceasefire called overnight!
Well, this is ironic.
Why are we reading about a ceasefire as we are being fired at?
I quickly learned that each country was allowed to carry out its final mission and then all parties were to be done.
The day was wishy washy. But by evening, the Iran war was over.
Just like that, the restrictions were lifted.
The notification started circulating…
“All restrictions have been lifted. Schools, educational activities, and businesses will now re-open starting tomorrow at 6am.”
Wait… what?!?
Is that how this works?
Tuesday we are at war and Wednesday the kids go back to school?
What the fuck.
Interestingly, this is when my anxiety started.
Do I send my kid to school? Is it safe? How do they know Iran will honor the ceasefire?
And also… what just happened?!?!
There is only one word to describe how that felt:
WHIPLASH.
That Wednesday, the first day after the war, was the hardest day for many of us.
Our bodies were still stuck in survival mode. But our feelings started to emerge.
My anxiety was high and I could feel tears wanting to come out… but they just couldn’t yet.
I was in a limbo between a fight or flight nervous system and a well of emotions that had nowhere to go.
And I wasn’t alone.
All of the community group chats were filled with mothers in particular sharing similar sentiments.
I decided not to send Rafi back to school on day one. My body couldn’t handle worrying about him. I just didn’t trust that it was over.
Miraculously, Rafi came out of the whole ordeal unscathed.
To him, the whole thing was fun and exciting. He loved that everyone came to his room to be safe. He loved playing with the neighbors and having extra screen time. He loved that there was no school and every day was quality time with friends and family.
“Hey buddy, the war is over,” I said to him when he woke up.
He genuinely looked disappointed.
“Well, when do you think it will start again?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. How did I luck out this much?
“I don’t think it’s coming back soon. But you don’t have to go back to school today. Let’s shoot for tomorrow.”
That was good enough for him.
As for me, I needed some decompression.
As soon as his Hebrew tutor came over, I made a run for it.
“I’m going to run some errands and let you two have the apartment,” I told her.
I got in my car and just sat there for a few minutes, trying to wrap my brain around the fact that it was over.
I went to the pharmacy to pick up Rafi’s allergy medicine. I overheard the two pharmacists, one Jewish and one Arab (that’s right, apartheid is a big fat lie), quietly chatting.
“I’m so tired,” said the Jewish pharmacist.
“I woke up 3 times thinking I heard a siren,” said her Arab co-worker.
I walked back to my car taking in the stark contrast between how things seemed and how things actually were.
The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the city was bustling.
But we were not ok.
I returned home and ran into my landlord.
“Hey” he said with a smile he would not have thrown my way before the war. “It’s over. I guess no more safe room. Did you sleep last night?”
“I think so,” I answered.
I walked by my neighbors pool and heard the kids playing.
“Get away from the atomic bomb!! Save yourself by jumping onto the pool float – the pool float is the safe room!”
Holy shit.
It’s been almost a week since the Iran war ended.
If you asked me how I’m doing, I wouldn’t know how to answer you.
Sometimes it feels like it was just a figment of my imagination.
Did we really just go through that or was that a movie I saw?
What are you even supposed to do after surviving a war?
The only thing you can do. Put one foot in front of the other and go on with your life.
But of course it lives in our body.
Let’s just say I understand a little more about those Israeli nerves my dad was talking about…
This is probably the part where you are saying “damn Elana was it worth it? Aren’t you regretting moving there?”
Let me answer that question by telling you a true story…
3 weeks before we made Aliyah, Rafi was at our local park in Philadelphia with the babysitter while I worked.
As I drove to the park to pick them up, I could see from a block away that something was not right.
As I got closer, I saw Rafi and his babysitter – hand in hand – running towards the car in panic.
“Oh my God, all the kids are fighting!”
I threw Rafi in the backseat and then drove closer to see what was going on.
30 High School kids were involved in an actual mob fight.
The kids who were fighting were girls – pulling hair and knocking each other to the ground – while the boys made a big circle around them and yelled obscenities – egging them on!
Just then, the cops showed up.
No.One.Flinched.
No one cared that they were going to get arrested. No one cared that they were disturbing a children’s playground. No one cared.
They just kept acting out a scene from Gangsta’s paradise (yes I’m that old.)
The girls were screaming about each other’s boyfriend and we found out later a knife was involved.
This is youth in a big American city these days.
“Get my kid the fuck out of this place,” I whispered under my breath.
I turned to the backseat. “You ok, munchies?”
I’ve been calling Rafi by the name munchies since he was born. No clue why.
The babysitter answered for him, “he’s fine! I’m the one who’s all frazzled. He actually started yelling at them to stop fighting! He’s not scared of anything!”
I chuckled. Yup, that’s Rafi. Always in charge.
I pointed to his stuffed frog, “Is Froggie scared?”
“Nope! He’s fine.”
So, here’s how I see it: the world has become dangerous and crazy.
My son will witness and experience some crazy, I can’t stop it.
So I want him to experience the crazy that has meaning behind it.
The crazy in Israel is so damn meaningful – we fight wars to protect our lives. It is about preserving the Jewish people. It is about never allowing a Holocaust to happen again. It is about family and community and life. It is about the bible.
It is about God.
What was the meaning behind the crazy he witnessed in the Philly park that day? A girl mad that her boyfriend looked at another girl?
If he had gotten hurt in that park, what would it all have been for?
I would rather him feel safe and loved in his community and amongst his neighbors.
Remember – in Israel we are at war with other countries. But in America, we are at war with each other.
When he turns 18, Rafi will be drafted to the IDF and I am in full support of that.
Because if I stayed in Philly, chances are he’d be drafted into a gang. And knowing Rafi he would quickly become the gang leader.
Life is hard and crazy no matter what. I choose the crazy that has ancient roots, love in its heart, and meaning in its fight.
We are home and we are not going anywhere.
Am Yisrael Chai.
 | Love,Elana |
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