“Hellooo darling. How are you? When are you coming to Tel Aviv? Everything is open and back to normal.” I get this message from my cousin Shirel in Israel – 24 hours after the ceasefire.
After my flight to Tel Aviv is cancelled, I suffer with my friends and family in Israel for 12 days. I’m glued to my mobile phone, seamlessly following the rocket alert via the Red Alert app and trying to stay in touch with my loved ones. On 13 June, the evening on which Iran fires the first ballistic missiles into Israel I am fortunately not alone. I am at a Shabbat dinner which gives me some stability.
For almost two weeks, I stagger through my everyday life. My packed suitcase is still in my living room – obviously I’m still in some kind of denial phase. I’m slowly realising how lucky I was. Because attacks of this magnitude can throw even the most hardened Israelis off their stride and into exhaustion. Whoever in heaven had a finger in the pie and saved me from this experience: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!
And then, after the ceasefire, there is suddenly this strange vacuum – and the questions: How do I fill the coming weeks here in Hamburg? And do I actually want to travel to Israel again this year? I have no feeling for anything. Only after another week do I feel the longing again.
Sometimes we have to let go of the life we have planned in order to find peace within ourselves. So that we can live the life that awaits us.
Today I booked a flight to Tel Aviv leaving early in September. My cousin Shirel writes: ‘Yay!!!!! I’m so super excited.’