Cooking, resistance, and belonging

A friend shared this cartoon captioned “war feels like it sometimes,” and it fit me like a glove. Lately, “cooking for my people” has been my anchor. Though the war has stretched over a year, the shock at first was so profound I remember no small moments of sanity. Now, I try to catch those moments, and though they don’t ease the burden of this reality, they’re reminders that happiness (still) exists.

Lunarbaboon

It’s been a week since I returned from three weeks abroad, and among the many impressions, one stood out. It wasn’t just that people out there were ‘just living’—a sentiment that astonished my Israeli friends when they left at the start of the war—but that no one truly understands what we’re experiencing here. I don’t mean politically or regionally—few grasp that either—but rather the deeply personal challenges we face.

Of course, it’s difficult, maybe even impossible, to fully understand. I think back to the Second Lebanon War in 2006. My husband and I would anxiously watch the news from afar, and he would tell me that we needed to move to Israel (he kept this up for nearly 20 years until I finally agreed). The news would end, dinner would start to cool, and we’d carry on with our lives. We worried, but the distance from Brazil to Israel made it abstract.

No matter how much one says “I understand,” war is incomprehensible without sirens, looming threats, and missiles overhead. Without terror in familiar places, or counting the years until your children enter the army. Without pausing your breath at every strange sound, or distinguishing the hum of a commercial airplane from a warplane. Without glancing at “news permitted to publish” and fearing you’ll know the names.

Then I understood why I missed Israel so much while I was away. Despite following the news, I felt light, putting energy into trivial things, riding rollercoasters without fear—goodness, how liberating that felt. But still, no one understood me.

Since I returned, two people have asked if I plan to leave. But leaving isn’t on my mind for one reason: even though I wasn’t born here, I belong here.

Yet, it’s not easy.

So, as chaos unfolds around me, I keep cooking for my people, holding onto the belief that joy can still be found in this part of the world.