Cheesecake, Reserve Duty and the Fragile Normalcy of Israeli Life

Last year, before we decided to stay in Israel permanently, I found myself searching for the “right” cheesecake.

Don’t get me wrong, Israel has plenty of cheesecake. Bakeries full of it. If I wanted to make it myself there are entire refrigerated sections of grocery stores devoted to soft white cheeses I still don’t fully understand, despite living here for a year now. But somewhere between the tubs of גבינה לבנה (white cheese) and the endless varieties of not-quite-cream-cheese, I find myself nostalgically comparing everything to the familiar North American versions I grew up with.

This year, while standing in the store debating cheesecake ingredients, my second son called to tell me he had been called back for another round of reserve duty beginning next month.

For a brief moment, I felt my nervous system react before my mind fully processed his words. The tightening in my stomach came first. My shoulders tensed. Then the strange sensation of emotional déjà vu that so many Israelis can relate to. Thankfully I could feel the dissociation start to kick in. A fragile wall inside my brain. A numbing fog clouding my consciousness.

Just as my nervous system had finally begun feeling more settled, this was a rude awakening that I probably shouldn’t let it get to the point of feeling too settled.

Last year, our oldest son got married one week before Shavuot. At the time, he was still officially considered a lone soldier. His reserve duty deployment lasted for months, and he was granted only two weeks off: the week before the wedding and the week after, before returning to miluim again. Shavuot was the last day he and his new wife spent together before a long separation.

That same Shavuot, we made the decision not to return to Canada.

Until then, we had still imagined that we would move to Israel one day… at some point in the not-so-distant future. After all, we had a five year plan for twenty five years.

But sitting there between wedding exhaustion, reserve duty schedules for our two oldest sons, cancelled return flights, the prospect of our third son drafting this year and the emotional reality of watching our children and new daughter-in-law navigate war without nearby family support, something became painfully clear: we no longer wanted our sons to be lone soldiers.

Since October 7th, being a lone soldier mom lost it’s novelty factor and completely evolved into a constant state of anxiety and longing to be here in Israel with them. Since Canada no longer had direct flights and flights in general had become less reliable in and out of Israel, I could not bear to leave my kids again, not knowing when we would be back next. We decided that it was time to be here fully, physically present for both the ordinary moments and the difficult ones. 

The week after our decision not to leave Israel, regional escalation with Iran suddenly intensified and the country shut down. While our son had just left for reserve duty, our new daughter-in-law’s plans were cancelled and she came to our place for Shabbat at the last minute with her sister. It must have been incredibly strange for her to spend the night sleeping in a bomb shelter with her new in-laws and brothers-in-law including our teen and toddler, trying to create some sense of normalcy inside a reality none of us could fully normalize. It felt surreal. And it validated that it was the right decision for our family to stay. 

Now, almost exactly one year later, we are fully Israeli and history feels as though it is repeating itself.

Our second son got engaged just last week. He is scheduled to get married this summer. Days after his engagement (while I was shopping for cheesecake ingredients), he was informed that he will be returning to reserve duty from June through October, overlapping with the months surrounding his wedding.

The details are different, our lives are different, but our bodies certainly recognize the internal alarm bells instantly.

People outside Israel often imagine that resilience here comes from fearlessness. But most Israelis are not fearless. The fear is very real. We feel all feel stress in our bodies. We jump at notifications. We learn to lean into uncertainty. We carry tension while working, cooking, folding laundry, buying groceries, planning weddings and trying to figure out if there is enough time to go to the bathroom before the actual siren goes off.

Life here does not pause long enough for emotional resolution though. I’m not going to lie, it takes a toll. But I’m learning. Growing. Evolving. The last year has changed me in so many ways and I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.

The holiday of Shavuot commemorates receiving the Torah at Har Sinai, but Jewish tradition describes that moment not as one of stability and comfort, but of uncertainty and vulnerability with a literal mountain of threat over our heads. The Jewish people entered a covenant in the middle of a desert, without permanence, without guarantees, without knowing what would come next.

There is something deeply Shavuot-like about a new Israeli continuing to shop for cheesecake ingredients while considering what their son’s upcoming reserve duty means with the impending end to the ceasefire. About wedding planning alongside installing home front command updates on your smart phone. 

It is definitely not denial. It is not indifference. It is the stubborn insistence that Jewish life continues even under threat and uncertainty. We look for quiet moments of inspiration and joy alongside the chaos. Faith inside adversity. Like the days of the Omer leading up to Shavuot we continue counting up the days until the next milestone or celebration while simultaneously mourning communal losses. That’s the reality on the ground over here.  

Our lift finally arrived recently. Boxes are slowly disappearing. Certain routines are beginning to feel familiar. I still get confused in Israeli supermarkets and occasionally (if I’m being truly honest it’s more like frequently) overwhelmed by bureaucracy. 

As far as cheesecakes go, I couldn’t handle the pressure so I quickly finished grocery shopping and then ordered a cheesecake from Holy Bagel. Apparently it’s the closest I’m going to get to what I’m used to. Maybe next year I will try to adapt to new recipes and traditions (although I’m not sure I will ever get used to the doughnuts here on Chanukah).

I may not feel fully settled in the cheesecake department and in the day-to-day life of a new Israeli citizen (will I ever get used to Sunday not being a day off here?), but I do undoubtedly feel like I’m finally home.