4 Ns: Nothing. Numb. Narcotized. Not.

Not nothing, yet compared to everything, with much to say, a moment to say nothing. Focus on the big picture, or an isolated fragment – focus and resolution. Time consuming, attention depleting. Another breath of war objections surrendered, whispering, qualifying that diplomacy remains my preference, but when not a viable option, defense – save our lives, ensure our future.

When nothing is the negative of everything, I know the surge of veneration for Israel’s historic attack on Iran will reverberate. From the debris, like explosive fragments from missile interceptors, reverberations will splinter my mind. We reached that moment – Iran’s nuclear capacity posed an imminent existential threat.  Anticipating Netanyahu taking more than deserved personal credit for the attack. It took the extra moment to pull together threads of thought frayed in the hours of renewed sleep after the siren sounded throughout Israel at 3:50 AM Friday announcing the Israeli attack on Iran underway, momentary retaliation possible, though ultimately beginning late Friday evening.

Buildup of years keeping the public fearful of Iran’s imminent nuclear capacity to destroy Israel was activated. In the margins, the sidelines, among friends, among likeminded social media voices, the question seeped out: why did we wait until now? Friday evening, when someone commented that we had to do it, because no time was left, I was prepared with the rhetorical response, “Why did we wait until it got to this point?” Her facial expression revealed she hadn’t considered that. Understandable amidst the euphoria, the marvel at our capabilities.

Resuming nothing to say (not) mode, wondering about the price for society, its emotional wellbeing, the economy, innocent victims in Iran, hostages in Gaza lowered on the headline hierarchy, imagining what all eyes on Iran means for Gaza, for West Bank Palestinians, wondering about our democratic regime – rules, exceptions in deference to Intelligence and security demands, exceptions turned into permanent stretching of rules, detracting from core values the existential struggle should protect.

Too much to say. Containing, now.

Numb. Not. Examining thoughts rationally, quieting emotions. Emotional reactions to the experience, not the arguments. Am I scared? Anxious? I am tired. This is old. Another war. Another night of sirens.

Demise of the Islamic Republic of Iran, let’s say. We’re told the western world will thank us. It won’t obliterate anti-Semitism. Nothing ever has. Pop-up thoughts intrude and fade with refutation. Arab Spring didn’t bring democracy to Egypt. Assad fell in Syria and positive surprises followed, with less promising developments thereafter, uncertainty, much allowed to develop – or taking classified actions that once revealed will connect to chains of mismanaged events like those emerging from Israel’s history with Hamas. Qatargate? Projections about an Iran happily rid of its current regime are not a strategic plan.

Not numb. Not jumpy. Cooking therapy – not because I need it, but doing it, I reflected, must have been a reflex, from years of experience. War. Cook. Write. Crochet. Paint. Decoupage.

Friday, we brought dinner to Haim’s daughter’s house. Her husband was called up for reserve duty that morning. Discharged by dinner time, on call to be re-called at any moment. Haim’s nephew and soon-to-be-bride visiting from the UK anxious to leave Israel as planned on Sunday despite closed skies. Haim’s idea: drive to Eilat, enter Egypt, fly from Sharm el-Sheikh. Resolved.

Concerned about 15-minute travel each way under threat of missiles, Haim’s son and family didn’t join us for dinner. At one point, our three granddaughters (Haim’s daughter’s threesome) were amidst a colossal sibling catastrophe. I ventured into that bedroom, also the family safe room, shared by the 7-1/2-year-old and the 3-1/2-year-old. The 10-1/2-year-old was crying, explaining that the little ones dropped an iPad on her head. She began hitting the 7-1/2-year-old. Best to let them figure it out without me as an added magnet for attention. Before leaving the room, thinking aloud, figuring it might not help but couldn’t hurt, I uttered, “It’s natural with stress and anxiety from sirens and missiles, you’re probably worried and a bit scared, so you release it with this behavior.”

The siren sounded. That bedroom filled with 7 adults, the dog, and the 3 girls. The middle one was scolded for something. In her defense, she explained, “I’m under stress.”

Following that round of missiles, we drove home, although invited to stay. As I said to Haim’s daughter when we left the next evening, before dark, before popular missile-launch hour, I’m only afraid by how fast her dad drives during the calm, between missile attacks.

Saturday lunch, we reconvened at Haim’s daughter’s, this time with his son and his two daughters during daylight hours. Indoor summer fun – food and quality family time. After their cousins left, the three girls at home were invited to a neighbor with kids their age, and a home safe room too. Their father took the oldest and the youngest. The 7-1/2-year-old wouldn’t say why she didn’t want to go. Her mother surmised she was afraid.

Earlier she asked why everybody was talking about Iran instead of Hamas. Yours truly attempted an age-adapted explanation. Reminded of questions I didn’t pose to her: Is release of hostages in Gaza high on the government agenda? Is ending the war in Gaza and a day-after strategy on the table? What’s the plan for Iran after it nuclear capacity is destroyed, but the knowledge remains?

Narcotized? Not. That headache Saturday morning got two over-the-counter pain killers which did it for the day. Typing while newsfeed and apps warn of missiles launched from Iran. Israel attacking in Yemen. Pakistan prepared to attack Israel, Britain moving military to the region. Anticipating missiles in the next few moments. Sonar missiles in waiting. Stay in safe room.  Calm, not numb.

Careful to be safe. Acceptance of that beyond our control. A poignant reminder of what is always true.

Harriet Gimpel, June 15, 2025