This Is Not a Game. This Is Our Reality.

It’s easy to be in awe right now. The headlines are explosive. The operation deep inside Iran. The Mossad base that no one saw coming. The daring and reach of Israel’s hand. And yes, it is incredible. But for those of us living in Israel, let’s be clear, this is no celebration. This is not a moment to gawk and joke. This is not a video game. This is life and death, and it is very, very real.

Since Israel’s preemptive strike on Iran, the country has come to a near-total standstill. Airports are shut. Not a single plane coming in or out. Roads are deserted. No schoolchildren walking. No honking, no traffic, no cafés bustling with conversation. Just silence. Tension. A nation holding its breath.

The View From the Bomb Shelter

Friday night, we were in the bomb shelter again. Not once. Not twice. But five times.

9 pm. 10 pm. 1 am. 3 am. 5 am.

Each time, we huddled under concrete ceilings while missiles came flying in. Each time, we waited for the booms, the gut-shaking, chest-thudding explosions that let us know it wasn’t just another drill. Some of those missiles were intercepted. Some weren’t. Some hit. People died. Many were injured. Children woke up screaming. Parents didn’t sleep. And when Saturday night came, we did it all again.

The Cost Beyond the Headlines

People outside Israel may not see it. Maybe it’s easier to make memes. Maybe it’s easier to post “Let the games begin” or joke about Home Front Command graphics. Maybe the headlines and hashtags create just enough distance. But we don’t have that luxury.

We are living it.

This is not just about rockets in the sky. This is about the thousands of soldiers who have been called up to defend every inch of our borders. It’s about the families left behind, mothers alone with three kids, fathers missing their newborn’s first smile. It’s about small businesses shuttered, economic activity frozen, lives paused indefinitely. It’s about a nation that once again finds itself bracing for escalation, praying for calm, and waiting for that elusive “normal” to return.

And most of all, it’s about our children. The ones who now associate the sound of a siren with terror. The ones whose childhoods have been shaped in shelters, not playgrounds. There is a cost to this, one we don’t talk about enough. A cost that is measured not just in dollars or defense budgets but in trauma, in sleepless nights, in lost innocence.

We Will Endure. But We Are Changed.

Of course, we trust the IDF. We believe in the strength of our people. We know that when the time comes to act again, we will act. Decisively, with power and with purpose. Iran must be stopped. Their threat is not hypothetical. It’s lived, it’s targeted, it’s aimed directly at us.

But we are tired. We are raw. And we are waiting. For peace. For safety. For the streets to fill with life again.

There will be a time for laughter, for reflection, even for pride in the missions carried out. But that time is not now. Now is a time for resolve, for unity, for mourning and for strength.

Israel will rise. We always do. But let no one confuse our resilience with ease. What we are experiencing is not a game.

It is war.

And it touches every single one of us.