Rockets, resilience, and children during war

I have a 2-year-old daughter whose latest game is to tell me that she is the mommy and I am the baby, and she is going to go. As she turns to leave, she tells me, “Mama, be sad now,” and waits patiently for me to fake some tears. Only then will she gingerly walk towards the door, and yell, “I’ll be right back, OK?!” But this game is better than her last game. Because the previous game she loved playing was sitting in the living room imitating a rocket siren. And she is so good at it that she kept freaking us all out.

I wonder every single day what the long term effects of war are going to be for my children. We were once at the park when a siren went off and my 9-year-old suddenly stopped being a child. He ran over to me, barked a command like an army sergeant, “You take the younger two; I’ll go grab my brother,” and ran to reach my 7-year-old and bring him to safety.

Time and time again, their abba (father) has had to leave them for months at a time. They are proud that Abba is a soldier keeping us safe, and they are confused and hurt that he has left them. We have picked up the shattered pieces of their hearts countless times, and rebuilt relationships in between army rounds, again and again.

My husbands army boots and uniform, before the last round he got called up to serve

They know the rules. If you are outside, run to the nearest building and stand in the stairwell. If you are in the house mid-shower, dry off carefully and come to the safe room. If it’s the middle of the night, make sure your siblings are all there and then go back to sleep. They make origami weapons to keep everyone safe. They know that their parents will do anything to keep them safe.

My son’s origami ‘pew-pew’ as he calls it. He has a belt and rubber bands to shoot and everything. Oof.

But what are the long-term effects on my children going to be, and how do I minimize the damage?

As a ’90s kid, I grew up in Israel with bombs on buses, intifadas, knife terror attacks, and so much more. I’ve found three things have held me up over the years, and though I am not a professional and this is in no way professional advice, here are the three things I do to instill resilience in my children.

Number 1: LAUGH

When we run to safety, I’ve noticed some of my kids will shake. It’s the noise that scares them more than anything else — especially the little ones. They don’t even understand what a rocket is. So let’s laugh. Let’s be silly together. We laugh about how the siren caught me in the bathroom or my son in the middle of his shower. We laugh that his underwear is in the other room and he’s just in a towel. We say things like, “Yay, now we have an excuse to be late for school!” Focusing on the funny and the positive is a lifesaver, and helps us snap back into reality.

Kids lying down on the ground because of a siren that went off just as everyone was heading to school. (Sar-El Ben Tzvi)

Number 2: SING and DANCE

I don’t know if you’ve been in a kindergarten or school since October 7th, but these kids are well-trained. As soon as we go into a bomb shelter, my kids start singing Am Yisrael Chai, jumping on the beds, dancing… Any and all movement is welcome. Sometimes we sing Acheinu, and sometimes we’ll sing a Static and Ben El song… It so doesn’t matter. But the movement sends our bodies a clear message: Don’t be confused. We are strong and we are unafraid.

Number 3: PRAY

My ability to tell my children that the big boss is watching over us gives my children a sense of calm and security. We have a purpose. We live in the land of Israel for a reason, and it’s all part of the big boss’s plan.

I don’t know how my children will be when they grow up. And I don’t know what the future holds. What I do know is that if this is our reality then we need to take steps to make it the best version it can be. And to give them the best tools to thrive here. I am no professional, but I am a parent living through a war with her children. And as someone who grew up in Israel during difficult times I can tell you this much. כאן נולדתי — Here is where I was (almost) born. כאן נולדו לי ילדיי — Here is where my children were born. כאן בניתי את ביתי בשתי ידיי — Here is where I built a home with my two hands. And it’s hard, and it’s crazy, but it’s exactly where we are supposed to be.

Superhero capes for my superhero children

So we laugh, we sing, we pray — and we keep going. Not because it’s easy, and not because we’re fearless, but because this is our home. We inject pockets of joy into the darkness and teach our children that even when the ground shakes and there are rockets above, we have the power to persevere. I don’t have all the answers. But I know that resilience is built in moments — in dancing in a shelter, in whispered prayers, in fake tears for a toddler’s game of goodbye. And if that’s what I can give my children in these uncertain days, then maybe, just maybe, it will be enough.