Throughout Sukkos, there were a number of things I thought of writing about when the holiday was over, but all of those things faded into the background with the reality of war suddenly upon us.

Several times I’ve sat down to write but I don’t have time to finish my thoughts, and by the time I sit down again, whatever I wrote no longer seems relevant.

Thank G-d, our immediate family is fine. Unrelated to the war, one son had emergency surgery a few days ago and is doing well. My mother was hospitalized on Shabbos, released and is back at the hospital today, accompanied by my oldest son.

Here at home my nerves are a bit frayed. The constant sound of fighter planes in the sky, day and night since last Saturday night begins to wear on the nerves. Though honestly, it’s mostly my thoughts that are wearing. If it was all light and unicorns in Israel at this time, the sound of the planes wouldn’t be more than annoying at most.

We’ve set up our secure room and moved all four of the youngest children there so they are all sleeping there; that way we don’t have to wake them and move them if there’s an alert in the middle of the night. So far we’ve only had two alerts and since I was running late that evening, none of the kids were yet in bed. (Right after that we assembled a second bunkbed for the safe room to accommodate them all.)

I’m super grateful that in the five months the twins have been with us, they have dramatically calmed down. They still take a lot of emotional energy but it would have been extraordinarily difficult to have them home all day and deal with their heightened levels of anxiety and fear if this had happened in the early days of them being with us.

Many, many families from the south and north are moving to areas further from the immediate danger. Less than an hour ago I sent our phone number to a community rabbi in the south and let him know we can host a large family. I’m waiting for him to be in touch with me.

We are such a tiny, tiny country. We talk about the north and south, as if those areas are really far from everywhere else, when actually nothing is that far from the areas that are seeing active war. I’m approximately 130 kilometers from Lebanon; that’s not much more than an hour drive. Yet I feel so lucky to be so ‘far’.

The kids are all home; I haven’t told any of them about the larger situation. Since schools were cancelled on the first day after the holiday when the kids were supposed to go back, I just told them it’s still vacation. They’ve asked about when they’re going back to school but I can only say that I don’t know.

My four older boys immediately ended their vacation and began learning full-time at a local yeshiva for the spiritual war effort. My 21 year old is planning to go back to yeshiva today, and my 17 year old is supposed to go back tomorrow. I’d really rather my 17 year old stay here for now. He’s mostly alone in a dorm at night and that’s a lonely place to be at the best of times but at a time of war, would be alarming.

Last week we had a family meeting with our older boys to discuss our spiritual and physical approach to what is happening. As I told my children at the very beginning, war is good for two things: unity among the Jewish people and spiritual growth and connection to G-d. We began our meeting by listening to this fifteen minute talk about a spiritual approach to helping with the war. We discussed ways we could strengthen ourselves as a family spiritually and agreed on a few things.

At this time that people are staying close to home, I’m fully aware how fortunate I am to live where we have enough outdoor space to keep the kids occupied much more easily. I am grateful for all of my blessings.

At the same time, in the last few days I’ve felt like I’m moving through mud. Slow, lethargic, not efficient at all, physically present but not fully emotionally present with the kids. I was frustrated with myself, until I recognized that this is an emotional side effect of what is going on. Despite refusing to look at even one video of the atrocities and keeping my news intake limited, my mind is filled with thoughts of those affected, particularly the hostages.

At the same time, life as normal goes on. As I am writing this, rain began pouring down for the first time in over seven months. I got up to take out raincoats for each of the younger kids. Now they’re dancing delightedly in the rain, while upbeat music is playing throughout the house. It’s all so pleasant and joyful, and I want it to be like that.

It’s a lot of emotion to juggle.

Avivah