Yesterday, shortly after eight o’clock, I was standing in the kitchen washing the dishes from the night before. In the background, the last eight minutes of a series were playing. Nothing unusual for me. On early Shabbat mornings, I’m usually the first one in the house to be awake. I’m an early riser.
While the rest of the family is still sleeping, I enjoy these quiet minutes. No phone, no appointments, no news. Sometimes I read, sometimes I watch an episode on Netflix—quietly, with a cup of coffee beside me. It’s my small, silent start to Shabbat before the house slowly comes to life.
That was how it was this morning too.
The kitchen was calm, still early, barely any sounds outside. Eight more minutes, I thought. Then maybe start another episode.
At 8:10 the sirens sounded.
In moments like that, you immediately know the day is no longer going to continue as planned.
I knew what it meant. The memory of June 2025 was still fresh—even back then everything began on a Saturday, in the...
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