There’s so much to say. Living through this war has revealed so many new horizons and layers within me, within my life. I’m praying for the safety of all of us here. And of course, for the Israeli and American military servicemen and women.
With each day, the more time passes, the miracle of our existence here feels more and more real.
I know that throughout our painful history, the Jewish people has always been vindicated. But also, I find myself praying words I have heard from my lips too often. Please, G-d: Let it be without any cost in pain, or blood.
The level of hate directed toward Israel and the level of sheer lies, to a level that at times sounds like modern day Lord Haw-Haw (William Joyce) propaganda, is astonishing. I mean, seriously, now the catalyst for the war is Chabad (per Tucker Carlson)? It’s so preposterous, it’s not even worth a response.
Commentary along these insane lines is some of the disturbing material I have been reading in between bomb shelter runs, where the hodgepodge of people are now friends with whom I have developed bomb-shelter bonds.
Living through this war raises a lot of issues that could use some serious emotional processing.
But right now, there’s no time to contemplate the terrifying notion of cluster missiles, designed solely to harm and kill as many innocent civilians as possible via a single ballistic missile, as it explodes into countless more explosions.
Right now, even as life strives to continue as much as possible within the craziness, the meshuga’as, we are just trying to get through it.
Emotions are running at a higher intensity. Everything feels more visceral. I was at a beautiful chuppah today, a war wedding, where you could feel the presence and spiritual depth of the possibly tenuous moment, as we all huddled, not knowing whether the ceremony would last or be disrupted by a siren. The joy in witnessing the faith of a new couple in Israel surging forward in building their lives here was truly moving. We all took part in reciting Psalms aloud, praying for the mission’s success.
I very much feel grateful to be here in Israel at this time. But coping with the incessant surging sirens and auditory overload has been its own kind of challenge.
There’s the staggering buzz of the warning siren. It’s not quite jarring, but it does cut through the air, letting you know of the official upcoming siren, which indicates a ballistic missile is in the vicinity. It’s very helpful to have this preparation before the continuous rise and fall of the real, distinctive siren, a wail that engulfs the neighborhood as we run to the miklat, the shelter. Each time, you get a bit mental, even as on some level you strangely get used to it.
In general, it seems there’s a constant sound track here. If missile sirens blare in a neighborhood nearby, or a missile is intercepted nearby, the unbelievably loud booms and shakes still reach you, even if in the form of distant rumbles. For a minute, my heart stands still.
Then there is the continuous thunderous throb and high-pitched roar of fighter jets, ripping through the sky. Oh, how I savor this sound. A comfort in this war-torn time. It feels good knowing someone out there is fighting for you, protecting you, keeping you safe. I think of my grandparents’ families, nearly all of whom were all murdered in the Holocaust. If only they’d had these fighter jets fighting for them. And yet. Within 80 years of their tragedy, miraculously, right now, Israel has air dominance in the skies over the current regime bent on our destruction.
Emotionally, I recoil from guns or other weapons of war. Practically, though, when missiles are flying at you, my gratitude knows no bounds. It’s the difference between life and death. I know I’m lucky to be alive at this time in history.
Amidst this cacophony, the muezzin, the Muslim call to prayer, from the Arab village nearby, is amplified. There’s an irony — and perhaps a hope too, in the local muezzin’s melodic summons to prayer, as the military jets are flying to neutralize the consequence of radicalized Islam, as the sirens blare in warning about incoming ballistic missiles, as a consequence of a radicalized Islamic state.
So much is unsaid, yet expressed, in this cacophanous collision that is the soundtrack of this war.
Thank G-d for this cacophony. It’s saving our lives. The sirens. The planes.
As for the constancy of the muezzin, I can only hope that all of our prayers for those of us blessed enough to be here are one and the same.
For life. And living.
For Israel to thrive.
For the hope of more peaceful alliances in a new Middle East.
That’s a sound I am still waiting for.
© IJN 2026
