It’s Friday morning and I’ll be on Israeli soil in less than 24 hours. I’ve been on a happiness hormone rush for over a week now – smiling the whole day and grinning like a Cheshire cat.
What will it be like when I return on 29 June – after almost 9 months – to the place I left the day after the war began, waving flags?
My escape on 8 October was driven by fear. There was no goodbye – neither to Tel Aviv nor to my friends. That’s why I’m taking a very gentle approach to what I experienced. I coped surprisingly well with the rocket attacks. But the night in the bunker shredded me (here’s the link to the article again) because my father’s transgenerational war trauma has left its mark on me. Fortunately, my trauma therapist helped me out of this.
Once again, I am living in an old house that has no “mamad” – no separate shelter. If there is a rocket alarm, I have 90 seconds to get to safety. Not enough time to flee to one of the bunkers that are scattered all over Tel Aviv. So I behave like other Israelis who don’t have a mamad: Linger in the stairwell until the attack is over.
Am I afraid?
Strangely enough, not. I know what to do in an emergency and am realistic enough to realise that rocket attacks could happen here again at any time! It’s a bittersweet joy on the one side to return to my place of happiness and see my friends. And on the other hand to know that there are still 120 hostages in the hands of Hamas – for over 260 days.
I feel that I can enjoy my stay despite the heaviness that lies over this country. It’s about enduring the pain of others without losing myself. And as I write this, I realise how a warmth is spreading through my body.
Here they are again – the happiness hormones.