Pictured above: People rest and as they take shelter in an underground parking garage as a precaution against possible Iranian missile attacks, in Tel Aviv, June 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)
The last 18 hours or so were scored with the sound of sirens, helicopters, booms, the not-so-distant thump, rattle, boom, and crack of drone and missile interceptions and impacts. One Iranian drone was shot down and exploded less than a mile from us.
Cease-fire, smeesh-fire.
This is a world of action, not words.
How are you?
It’s a question we get asked, ask each other, and ask ourselves a lot.
It’s a tricky question.
Not because I don’t have an answer, but because the answer shifts from moment to moment. Sometimes, I lose myself in work or a domestic project and forget about the war for a bit. Some moments feel heavy, like when the fourth siren sounded this morning and my neighbor called me in a panic, asking if her daughter was with us (she wasn’t). Some moments are painful, when we learned about the casualties in Beer Sheva this morning. Some moments are just peaceful and nice, like our late-night BBQ and eating fresh corn and roasted marshmallows in our yard.
I think the best way I can describe how I am in a general way is to say that I feel like a web page that’s loading.
I’m buffering.
I’m not offline. Not frozen. Just…moving slowly from thing to thing – in a near constant state of recalibrating.
It’s like life itself is pasted into a new document with all the formatting stripped out. The content is still there: the orthodontist appointment, the newsletter that needs to get out, the team meeting, the dinner to be made, and dogs to walk.
But the structure is gone.
No clear sections.
Flexibility of being and doing is a requirement.
I find anchor points where I can.
I’m into small domestic projects.
Yesterday, I cleaned my closet.
We started a long-awaited outdoor project.
There is an early-days-of-COVID vibe.
Slightly vacation-like, minus the dashes to shelter at any time of night or day.
We’re mostly staying close to home. Trying to stay busy with home stuff.
Cuz, things are unpredictable.
And being home feels safe.
Thank Gd, we have so much to be grateful for.
We have older kids who can occupy themselves and pitch in.
Shahar is home with us most nights.
We can move quickly if needed; no mobility issues. No health issues.
We have a bomb shelter in our house.
We have electricity, running water, and food in the fridge.
We don’t need to rip ourselves from sleep while schlepping little ones or older parents to the basement floor of a musty community shelter.
We are, in all the ways that matter, really good.
Don’t worry about us. Truly. We’re fine.
But if worry is also your prayer, then there are plenty more deserving than us.
Those who have lost their homes, those who are injured, those who live with post-trauma, depression, or anxiety. Those who are parenting children with special needs. There are a lot of folks who have it rough out here.
That’s not us. Thank Gd.
We’re just getting through it.
Recalibrating until we don’t need to anymore.