What the hell are we doing?

Sometimes, absurdity doesn’t need to knock at the door. It’s already inside, sitting on the couch, and we don’t even notice. Today, in the Times of Israel, I read an article by David Horovitz, a journalist I deeply respect—always precise, always balanced. He wrote what any sensible person would know: “Firing the Defense Minister amid Israel’s gravest crisis, with conflicts on multiple fronts, is reckless and dangerous. It would delight Israel’s enemies and deepen the division at home.” So far, everything makes sense. David lays out the facts with the calm of someone who understands the moment’s gravity. But what came next hit me like a punch in the gut: Sara Netanyahu, this so-called “key figure,” wavering on the minister’s fate.

If this doesn’t seem strange to him, the problem is more significant than I thought. If this hadn’t rattled someone like David, absurdity would have been normalized far more than I could have imagined. We’re talking about Sara Netanyahu, someone who has never been elected and who holds no official mandate, influencing life-and-death decisions as if it were an everyday occurrence. Since when? At what point did this become accepted as usual?

And we’re not talking about a trivial decision. This isn’t about repainting the walls or choosing what to serve for dinner. We’re talking about our children. Yes, our sons and daughters are out there risking their lives while she—who never had to face an election—wavers on their fate. And you think this is normal? Do you accept this? I don’t. I lament it.

I remember my father. He had an old radio, one of those battery-powered ones, that he would turn on every day early in the morning. Gaucho music would fill the house. “Wake up, boy!” he’d say, as if he knew time wouldn’t wait for anyone. And I, lazy as I was, thought the radio would play forever, that mornings were endless. But they weren’t. Today, the radio is silent. And this silence… this silence weighs heavier than any noise.

This is where we are, Israel. Not completely silent—there are protests, sure—but with a noise that doesn’t seem to touch the heart of the problem. We accept that someone without a mandate, without any public accountability, decides the fate of a nation. And we do it with ease that should disturb us to the core. Absurdity has settled in, and no one seems to find it strange anymore.

My father used to say that life is like a song on the radio. You only realize how much you loved it when it stops playing. Memory works the same way. It fades gradually. First, the details disappear. Then, what matters? And what seemed solid, what should have been unbreakable, turns to dust. Our democracy, which was supposed to be solid and steadfast, is crumbling—and you don’t see it. Because we’ve gotten used to it. We’ve gotten too used to it.

So I ask: What the hell are we doing? Yes, we protest. We’re out in the streets, holding signs. But if even someone like David doesn’t find this strange anymore, are we going far enough? Silence still hovers in the air between the shouts. The problem isn’t just Sara wavering. The problem is us. We waver every day.

And that’s how we carry on. We wake up, drink our coffee, and turn on the news. “Sara is wavering,” they say. And you? You accept it like you’d accept a weather forecast. And life goes on. But does it? What we lose along the way never comes back. What’s been forgotten is forgotten forever. When did we let the radio stay off for so long?

I lament. I lament that we’ve allowed someone with no mandate, no legitimacy, to decide the fate of our children. While we shout in the streets, I lament that we still accept this as part of our daily lives. I lament that we’ve entrusted the future of a nation, of a generation, to someone who should have no say over anything but their own life. This pains me.

Life, my father used to say, goes by fast. I never believed him. I always thought time was on our side, that it could wait for us. But it can’t. Because while we wait and let life run on autopilot, absurdities pile up. Like Sara Netanyahu, who is deciding the fate of a nation. And the radio, which could wake us up, stays off.

And you? Do you keep sitting there, thinking all of this is normal?