The first 500 days of a new life

A new life – one I never wanted or sought. Yet, it is also a life I can no longer turn my back on.

It would be so easy. And yet, I can’t detach myself from it. What we have lived through has been so shocking, so intense, so dystopian, that I am convinced I could never truly relate to, or be understood by, people who have no idea what it feels like to wake up one morning and see their home invaded by the enemy.

We lived through the first days in total shock. Then came the period of frequent sirens sounding multiple times a day. Then Iran, with its threats and ballistic missiles. Then the Houthis, disturbing our sleep as part of their strategy. And finally, the most agonizing ordeal of all: the agreement.

It is a never-ending shock. I always wonder if Golda Meir were still alive, what would she have done? Her message to future generations was clear: you don’t sit at the table with terrorists.

So why do I have to watch, every Saturday on television, the miserable spectacle unfolding before my eyes? There are things I simply cannot accept.

I cannot find peace in the fact that I am unable to feel true joy at the release of the hostages. Because before every actual release, the grotesque spectacle staged around it feels like yet another act of violence, another humiliation, another media victory for those who have no qualifications to sit at the negotiating table with a power entity like Israel.

I cannot accept it.

It torments me.

I have spent a lifetime organizing events, conferences, and conventions for work. I know the logistical, organizational, and financial costs, the timing, the merchandising, the sponsors. And now, every Saturday, I am forced to watch it all replayed on television in the form of a mockery – mockery toward those who lived through that hell, toward their families, toward us.

There is money for the stage and the gadgets to give our returning hostages, but not to rebuild what was destroyed or even to feed the population.

There are financial resources for black and green uniforms, for weapons. There are costume designers, actors, directors, extras, stagehands, sound engineers, and logistics coordinators. And finally, the audience—worthy of the Colosseum. People sitting there, enjoying the spectacle, people who have no idea what it means to live a life of dignity, utterly devoid of civilization and critical thinking.

Yet, I see them signing meaningless pieces of paper, alongside individuals whose “organization” is provably non-existent. I am not surprised. My grandmother once told me that during the deportations, the Red Cross was invited by Hitler to verify that the Theresienstadt concentration camp was a welcoming place for Jews. The camp was staged like a movie set for the occasion. The Red Cross arrived, failed to ask why Jews were in a concentration camp to begin with, applauded the Third Reich, and left. And as soon as they were gone, everyone was sent to the crematorium in Dachau.

So, I already know that certain “organizations” simply cannot be trusted.

I wonder how a people as proud as the Israelis can passively submit to all of this. Even with this agreement, the media war is lost. Israel has elevated Hamas to a political entity by signing an agreement with it. And Hamas – far from being eradicated, but rather alive, well, and thriving – now sees itself as a once-underdog that has risen to full political power. It can boast of having negotiated with Israel.

To me, it feels as if a lion has been so humiliated that it was forced to make a deal with a skunk.

I remain in shock. I don’t believe anyone truly cares about us.

Not the government.

Not other governments.

The Israel I once knew – proud and strong – is gone. Now, I see only a country wounded, violated, humiliated, forced to bow its head before a pack of wild dogs.

Five hundred days.

A nation brought to its knees.

I wonder what will become of all this.