People who want to live in safety and peace have more in common with each other, no matter where they live, than they do with the people who condemn them to death. And it’s about time we understand that.
Linda Dayan, Haaretz (Israeli newspaper)
I’m attending a meeting this afternoon where I’m supposed to share impressions from my recent trip to Israel. My biggest impression? There is so much trauma.
I chatted with a man at the Athens airport when we were checking in for the flight to Israel. He goes there from Texas to teach classes on developmental trauma. He does this every few months.
Walking from the plane to baggage claim in Ben Gurion Airport, I passed a wall with photographs of the hostages taken on October 7, 2023.
My brother David picked me up. We went for a swim in the lovely Tel Aviv University pool. In the evening we met relatives for dinner at a restaurant. We had a great talk about the book being written by a relative who’s an art therapist. And sometime during that first day, I was told what we needed to do if a a siren went off, warning of a missile launch.
– If you’re home, go to your safe room if you have one, or to the shelter in the basement of the building. Walk down the stairs, don’t take the elevator. Though some people on higher floors just wait it out in the stairwell.
– If you’re out, say in a restaurant or walking down a city street, go to a public shelter.
– If you’re driving on the highway, pull over, park, and go over to the side of the road. Lie on your stomach with your hands over your head.
During the six days I was there, there were two missile attacks, both in the middle of the night. Fortunately, David has an app that gives a 90-second warning, so instead of being wakened by a siren, I got a gentle knock on my door. I threw a jacket over my pajamas and put on shoes, and David, Ruti, and I went down to the shelter. 20-30 people were there, sitting on folding chairs or—especially the kids—sprawled still half-asleep on big pillows. David got on his phone checking in with their three daughters. His app told him if/where there were any hits. (Most of the missiles get intercepted.) After about 10 minutes, everyone returned to their apartments and tried to get back to sleep.
This is daily life. And so is having a good time with family, going to dance performances, and being thrilled that Israel had just come in second in the Eurovision songs contest. I went with Ruti to two Nia classes, and the teacher, Nurit, had put together a playlist of Israel’s Eurovision entries.
Even in the midst of “fun” activities, though, trauma asserts itself. I went to the Negev Desert with Gaia and their partner, Maya. Along the highway, you see rows of Israeli flags punctuated with yellow flags for the hostages. Hostage photos surround a fountain in a central square in Tel Aviv. The dance performance I saw, by the Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company, was created after October 7, and is described on the company’s website as “a hauntingly beautiful and urgent work that confronts the devastating toll of war—not on ‘sides,’ but on lives. It is a lament for what is lost, a reckoning with the present, and a fragile offering of hope for what still might be possible.” I heard about children carrying a heavy load of anxiety. I got bitten by an anxious dog!
Now, since Israel attacked Iran and Iran is retaliating, the WhatsApp messages from David are: We are OK. … We are in the shelter. … Just finished round 3. … Missiles late this afternoon and again this evening.
And of course, trauma has no borders. Gaza. The West Bank. Iran. The trauma specialist I met in the Athens airport won’t run out of work anytime soon. Tonight and Wednesday, we’re dancing to songs in Hebrew, Arabic, and Farsi. This weekend, we welcome the Solstice with the hope of inviting more light into the world.