War Diaries Day 5: How Insanity Became the New Normal

So welcome back again after a brief, albeit very eventful, hiatus to Day 5 of our war with Iran. I’m here to share a few honest thoughts.

Firstly, forgive me if I sound disconnected, but I feel as if I’ve gained access to the Upside Down—or the Dead Zone—a place where nothing seems real. On the one hand, there are missile alerts and safe rooms, death notices and a general End of Days/World War 3 miasma. And yet, almost impossibly, there is a warm, soft, budding seed of hope that we nourish in a quiet corner of our consciousness, ringing a tiny bell that summons the dream of a better world. If only we just hang on a bit longer.

So I hold one weighted ball in one hand, and one in the other: fear—and hope. And pride.

The humdrum is fighting for a front-row seat, however. Getting out of bed—for what exactly, I’m not sure. Making vague plans for the future on the premise that perhaps this will have blown over in a couple of weeks. The ‘nobody knows,’ and trying to find my comfort zone in a bed of pins and needles.

I have twenty more Diplomacy Studies papers to mark. They take time. I have to analyze political reasoning and assess written speeches. It demands focus. I say a silent prayer of thanks that I have this distraction. I ration them out—ten a day. Marking in small doses creates routine, but protects me from brain-fry burnout at the same time.

I want to see my parents, but I don’t want to drive on the roads. What if I get an alert and have to pull over? Injuries haven’t just come about due to missiles, but due to the mad panic of a rush to shelter.

I’m planning my next year’s sabbatical on the assumption that the war will be over, peace treaties will be signed, and we’ll go back to what we call ‘normal’ over here. Strikes. Demonstrations that close the street. Spiced up with terror attacks every now and then. That type of normal.

I see subtle signs of gradual change in our intense security situation—rules being relaxed. I went grocery shopping nearby today. The parking lot was full, so I had to go to another supermarket (a more expensive one) instead. And instead of being miffed, I was quietly happy. People are evidently not too frightened to go out shopping. When our gym finally reopens, I’ll do a happy dance.

Restaurants are closed, but people are defiantly sitting on benches outside pizza joints, pretending they aren’t. (Israelis love their food.) I took the scenic route home—usually the place I avoid due to endless traffic—for want of anywhere particular to rush to. I was overjoyed to spot some ‘non-essential’ establishments open. A spice store. We are a brave bunch.

I’ve silenced my amber alerts now—a small act of rebellion. The calculus is simple: I’ll wake for explosions, not warnings. For impacts, not trajectories. Last night, for the first time in weeks, I slept uninterrupted. Dawn came gently, and with it that disorienting thought: What horrors did I sleep through? What miracles?

The war continues, but my nervous system has called a temporary truce.

After all, the malevolent regime hellbent on transforming our world into a festering pit of terror, death, and nihilism now writhes in its death throes. Chaos erupts as their vaunted “axis of resistance” stands exposed—pants down, defenses shattered.

And at this pivotal moment? The Lion of Judah has roared with unprecedented courage. Let’s state this plainly: where others saw invincible monsters, we saw the seams in their armor. Where the world cowered, we calculated.

Fear murders reason—this we know in our bones. Yet this time, when history whispered “retreat,” our response was a masterstroke that will echo through generations. The brilliant insanity of it! To look directly at the unblinking eye of tyranny… and wink.

Above all, there are the jokes—the real oxygen of Jewish survival. The ones that bubble up from safe rooms, where someone inevitably cracks, “At least if I die on the toilet, I’ll go out as I lived.” The viral memes—Bibi as a grizzled cowboy, Ayatollahs as buffoonish cartoon villains. The TikTok stars filming their manic monologues between sips of iced coffee, as if missile alerts were just another production challenge.

We’ve always fed on this humor. Moses must have had his moments—staring at the whining masses in the desert, muttering, “I freed you for this?” The shattered tablets? Perfect material. The manna complaints? An early prototype of Jewish comedy.

It’s not just comic relief. It’s the marrow in our bones. When the world goes dark, we light candles—and then immediately make fun of the flame.

So I will be the torchbearer of the normality of our insanity. I’ll wake up, do my stretches, and tap away at the keys of life—oblivious, or pretending to be, as the earth tilts quietly off its axis.