Council Member Ortal Hazut reflects on raising young children in Israel as war and sirens disrupt daily life. In this personal piece, she writes about parenting amid constant uncertainty, the need to persevere despite fear, and the difficult questions many Israelis are asking about the future.
That first Shabbat morning, we were all sleeping in the big bed we bought when we moved into our new home. It’s a special treat that I let my daughters enjoy only on Shabbat.
At eight o’clock, the siren blared through the quiet. Violent, piercing and urgent. Sleep and reality blurred together.
I looked at my daughters. Sweet. Innocent.
The little one, her cheeks pink with warmth, curled up in a purple blanket. The older one in her Spider-Man pajamas, a tiny superhero.
It’s been two and a half years since the first war began, and we know what to do. Within seconds, each of us grabbed a child and ran to the safe room.
In our new home, we are lucky to have a mamad, our own bomb shelter. What about those who have nowhere to go for protection?
We shut the reinforced door, then the heavy metal window. And then silence.
On the couch, I cover my girls in a blanket and try to steady my breathing. My mind races as I worry about our family and friends. Who is safe? Who isn’t? My thoughts drift to my sister in Boston and how much I miss her.
That day, our daily routine shifted. Once again, our lives are shaped by war. We search for distractions and relief as we live between the sirens and games of Monopoly, between alerts about incoming missiles and my daughters drawing butterflies, and between thoughts about the country’s future and placing pizza orders for dinner.
We live with fear and also gratitude for all the good that still exists.
Above all, one question looms large: how long will this go on, and for what?
Parenting is complex and wonderful, but it also takes away your right to give up. You have to keep going for them. My two curious daughters still have so much to discover in this world.
To keep moving forward, we have to ask the hard questions: What are the goals of this war? What are the consequences for us and others? What is the price our society will pay, and what are the alternatives?
We must understand that it is possible to experience pain while preserving our humanity towards others. We must remember that our hope is foundational, not a solution.
On Shabbat morning, as my younger daughter smiled at me and the older one hugged me, I remembered that even in chaos, there is light.
The future can be different. There can be a world where children in Israel and around the world can sleep peacefully.
When I picture that peace, I know that the fate of the people of Israel, our people, is preserved through small moments of love, hope, and resilience, even in the heart of the storm.
