An Earthquake in Israel?

This morning started like any other. I was flowing through my yoga routine when, at exactly 7:02 AM, the siren blared.

Living on a kibbutz in northern Israel, I hate to admit it, but by now, I know the drill.

Call to my husband. Wake up the kids. Rush to the safe room. Shut the door tight.

But this time, something was different.

Instead of the usual siren on my phone, the Home Front Command app did something new.

“Earthquake! Earthquake!” the voice shouted in Hebrew.

An earthquake?

What?

I froze. Not because I’m a stranger to emergencies, but because this was unfamiliar territory. The app was telling us to do something we’d never done before: go outdoors, not huddle in the saferoom.

Confusion surged through me. In the heat of the moment, it was hard to think straight. Our kibbutz WhatsApp group was buzzing with the same question: What’s happening, and what are we supposed to do?

Eventually, we were told to head back to our saferooms until further notice.

As it turned out, the speculation was that an IDF operation to destroy tunnels in Lebanon had caused such a powerful underground blast that it triggered the app, mistaking it for an earthquake.

After weeks of living in the shadow of sirens, rockets, and explosions, this unexpected twist nearly pushed me over the edge.

I wanted out.

I told my husband, “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know when or how, but I want to leave.”

It wasn’t that I’d been feeling this desperate all these weeks. I was functioning—I was working, cooking for my family, even exercising. Life, on the outside, looked normal.

But this morning’s alert? That took me over the edge.

Human beings are adaptable by nature. As much as sirens, rockets, and missiles are far from the way anyone should live, we adapt. In a strange, twisted way, we get used to the booms—accepting them as “normal” while trying to carry on.

But no matter how things appear on the surface, you can’t deny how much this war weighs on each of us—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

In an act of desperation, my husband said, “Can’t you use your tools? Isn’t this exactly what they’re meant for?”

He was referring to The unSTUCK Method, a process I created to help people release the thoughts and emotions they get stuck in, to find more peace in their lives and relationships.

I typically use the method for everyday challenges—minor frustrations, annoyances—but I’d never thought to apply it to something as overwhelming as the emotional experience of living through a war.

But I gave it a try.

I stopped and took a few deep breaths. I breathed deeply for several minutes, just to calm my nervous system.

Then I tuned into the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me: uncertainty, fear, sadness. Questions flooded my mind: How long will this last? What will happen? What about my son, who’s about to enlist? I let myself feel it all, giving those emotions the space they needed. They were real, and the only way to handle them was to acknowledge them fully.

Next, I examined my thoughts. What were all those feelings really about? I uncovered beliefs like, “This will last forever,” “I can’t handle this anymore,” “I should go back to the States, where I came from.”

And then, I sat with those thoughts. Were they 100% true? No. They felt true, but they weren’t facts—they were stories I’d been telling myself over and over. And the more I believed those stories, the stronger they became.

But those stories weren’t serving me. So, I began to consider other perspectives. This wasn’t easy—when you’re caught in your own narrative, it’s hard to see beyond it. But I tried.

I considered my husband’s perspective: “Israel is winning the war.” I’m not sure everyone would agree with that, and even I don’t entirely know what it means to “win” when we’re still hearing daily booms. But considering that idea brought me a small sense of relief.

I also considered that maybe I can handle this—better than I have been. I didn’t want to beat myself up for struggling in such an impossible situation, but I realized I could be more intentional with my self-care. That small shift, I knew, could give me a sense of groundedness and control—something we all need right now.

Lastly, I considered that I don’t need to go back to the States. And I’m certainly not leaving my family here. But maybe, I could take a short break. A breather. A week away, somewhere to rest and rejuvenate. This week, I plan to explore that possibility.

After reaching this place of clarity, I offered myself compassion. I had gotten “stuck” in uncertainty and fear, like so many others would in this situation. But I’m human, and I’m living through something extraordinarily difficult.

And so, while I wasn’t thrilled to be jolted awake by an earthquake alert—an alert for something that wasn’t even an earthquake—I’m grateful that it woke me up to something more. It forced me to take a better look at how I’ve been handling this situation and what I could do to feel more grounded, more in control, and more at peace.

And the beautiful thing is, the tools we need to get unstuck, to find calm and clarity in the chaos, are often within us—we just have to remember to use them.