I want to start with a confession — full disclosure.
Does anyone remember what happened a year ago? We had those 12 days with Iran— relatively “short and sweet.” I confess that at the time, it didn’t feel like a big deal to me. I didn’t fully grasp what a supersonic, ballistic missile warhead from Iran meant. I was in a good mood, even happy. My parents were staying with us in the Galilee because they didn’t have a safe room. It felt like a vacation.
But the war with Iran in spring of 2026 wasn’t like that.
On Passover Eve, I found myself stopped on a highway in the heart of Tel Aviv, crouching in a drainage ditch with Iranian bombs falling. My body rebelled – suddenly feeling split inside with the schism of being right in Israel’s central city (the enemy’s biggest bullseye), clashing with my instinct to live and be far away from there in a safe place. I was traumatized and could barely say a word during the Passover Seder.
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