The boom that broke our invincibility

Let’s be honest — we were starting to believe we were invincible.

For months now, ballistic missiles have been raining toward Israel from Yemen. Not a few. Not dozens. Hundreds. Precision-guided, long-range, with payloads designed for terror and maximum destruction. And yet, day after day, night after night, we watched our defense systems — Iron Dome, David’s Sling, the Arrow — rise up like guardian angels, intercepting and destroying the threats midair before they could ever reach us.

It became… normal.

The booms in the distance. The alerts that didn’t even interrupt dinner. The “intercepted successfully” headlines we barely bothered to click. We carried on. We worked. We drank coffee. We planned vacations. And somewhere, deep in the folds of our national psyche, we tucked away the terrifying truth: we were under attack, but we had become invisible.

But this morning, the illusion shattered.

A rocket got through.

It made it all the way to central Israel and landed dangerously close to Ben Gurion Airport. That boom wasn’t somewhere else — it was here. That smoke wasn’t from an intercepted warhead far from civilian life — it was on our soil. And in that moment, everything changed.

The sound was different. Louder. Realer. Because this time, it wasn’t just a line in a security update or a graph in a briefing. It wasn’t a story about “airspace” or “trajectory” or “engagement protocols.” It was a hit. A real hit. And with it came a visceral reminder: we are not invisible. We are not invincible.

We are at war.

And yes, it’s easy to forget. When our systems work so flawlessly, when our military is so competent, so advanced, so ready — it’s easy to believe that war is something that happens to other people. But this isn’t a simulation. This isn’t a scene from “War Games” or “Homeland.” These are not fireworks. These are not drills.

Each rocket fired from Yemen — each one from Gaza, from Lebanon, from Syria — is a calculated attempt to kill us. To wound us. To maim our cities, our children, our future. And we dare not forget that just because they didn’t succeed, doesn’t mean they weren’t trying.

We’ve been told to stand down. To de-escalate. Because “no one was hurt.” Because “it was intercepted.” But what happens when the next one isn’t? What happens when the next rocket doesn’t miss, doesn’t get caught, doesn’t explode mid-air but rather over a shopping mall, a hospital, a nursery?

What happens when the next boom changes a family forever?

We must not wait for that moment to remember that our enemy is real. We must not need a tragedy to justify our defense. We must not need a funeral to find our voice.

So let’s talk about the new normal — yes, let’s. But let’s do it honestly.

The new normal is not peace. It’s not quiet. It’s not safety. It’s a fragile, determined resilience in the face of relentless attacks. It’s a nation on alert, even when the sirens are silent. It’s a people who refuse to be terrorized, but who also refuse to be lulled into complacency.

We will not be guilted into passivity.

We will not apologize for surviving.

And we will not forget that while technology may shield us from the worst of our enemies’ intentions, it is not a guarantee of safety. It is a miracle—and like all miracles, it demands awe, gratitude, and a sober recognition of the thin line between what was and what could have been.

This morning, that line got a little too close.

The smoke has cleared. The system held — almost. And we carry on.

But maybe, just maybe, a little less invisible than yesterday.