Israel has been at war for over a year. The war developed, starting in the south and expanding to open a front in the far north, spreading across the entire northern region.
I live in Haifa, so at the start of the war, we didn’t feel the war itself but its consequences: dozens of closed businesses because their owners, reservists, were called up for service; funerals of family members or friends from the south; friends whose children were killed or injured in Gaza or the north. A lot of grief and too much bad news, yet we were privileged: We lived without the constant background noise and immediate existential fear of missiles.
However, in the last two months, everything changed. Hezbollah expanded its range of fire to the entire country, focusing on the north (presumably due to the economics of short-range versus long-range rockets). Our lives changed again, and all workplaces and schools were closed for about three weeks. The city, which is the third largest and most beautiful in the country, became desolate.
Explosions of varying intensities throughout the day, occasional sirens, and ambulance sirens all day long have become part of our daily routine. The constant anxiety after every strike, hoping not to hear bad news, is unsettling and exhausting.
The children, once again, stay at home and are not allowed to go to parks or malls, reminiscent of the initial months of the war. Everyone is tired from sleepless nights, whether from worry about loved ones fighting in the war or missile alerts—stressed, mourning, deeply concerned. Every short trip for a meeting, errand, or funeral causes stress, and while driving, you assess the terrain to identify the nearest shelter in case of an alarm.
Especially in the last month, Hezbollah began using more accurate missiles and drones with larger warheads, hitting a synagogue in Haifa, a residential building, and—fortunately outside operational hours—a kindergarten.
In the last month, Haifa’s education system fully reopened, understanding that with schools closed, the whole city shut down, as parents would have to stay home with their children and be unable to work. As a result, the defense guidelines changed from “staying near a standard secure area” to “the most secure possible.”
Images of children lying in school corridors next to large glass windows during alarms have caused some parents to fear sending their children to school and children to fear being at school due to the lack of shelter. Parents had to calm their children’s anxieties while they were on edge and full of worries. One can debate whether this was the right move, but it undoubtedly brought Haifa back to life, allowing people to return to work.
About two weeks ago, we crowded into a shelter near the CJP offices in Israel, which can accommodate 30 people but held over 100 during consecutive alarms. A hundred people were trying to contact their children’s schools, their families, and loved ones to ensure everyone was safe. Then, as true Israelis, they returned to work and wrapped up tasks in tightly packed team meetings in the shelter.
It is demanding and draining. Israelis, and especially those in the north, are lacking in joy. Smiles have become rare, and everyone is a bit impatient. All mental health studies show that all Israelis experience trauma as an immediate consequence of the war. The prolonged duration of the war has led to a perpetual survival mode feeling. Everyone needs treatment to process the traumatic experiences of the past year, but finding therapists is difficult. The result? Loud arguments over parking, disputes in queues, and verbal abuse toward medical, educational, or service staff.
Today, on the day the ceasefire began, when we do not need to remain near a secure area, the residents of Haifa go out and discover restaurants and businesses that have closed down, with two or three more closings every week. Many hotels have closed, and others have reduced occupancy rates due to the lack of domestic and international tourism; most evacuees have also left the hotels and rented apartments. Children’s activities that ceased their operations. The long-term effects of the war and the impact on the economy in the city and the entire north begin to be felt.
As I write these lines, the ceasefire has been in effect for 14 hours, and the skies above us are silent and calm. I hear fighter jets overhead and immediately stop writing to check the news. It seems it will take us time to return to a life where every noise from an airplane, motorcycle, or slamming door doesn’t make us skip a heartbeat and rush to see if something serious has happened.
I pray that the ceasefire holds. I pray that we seize the opportunity to redevelop the north so that it thrives and attracts robust populations, becoming a beacon of a truly shared society and Zionism. I dream that together with Jewish communities worldwide, we fight antisemitism and build the next chapter in our shared new future. Today marks the beginning of a new chapter. Am Israel Chai VeKayam!
