Why does it feel so empty?

The firing has (partially) ceased, what will replace it?

Have you ever had that feeling when you just finished an exam, are in between jobs, or some other major stage in life? That feeling that can only be described as an intense down, an gnawing emptiness, that can best be encapsulated in the question — so what now?

I remember this feeling when I finished my active duty military service — that three week hafshash — vacation before formal release, where I truly had no idea what to do with myself. It was a frankly scary time; suddenly I didn’t need to clean my gun, I didn’t need to press my uniform, I didn’t need to fix my gunsights. I had all the time in the world to think about the next stages of my life, process the experiences I had just lived, assess my values and my direction. Not all thoughts were pleasant; many brought back both fresh and well-worn traumas, moral dilemmas, pain and hurt. How to manage those emotions without falling apart? How to use them as a propellant for growth instead of let them become chains of despair? 

That feeling — that dynamic of “what now?” — that is the story of the cease-fire in Lebanon — but on an existential scale. As the guns grow silent, the thoughts that have been so blissfully repressed for far too long rush through the breach like a flooded Litani River.

Fourteen months after October 8th, what now? Fourteen terrible months of bombing, of rockets, of sixty thousand internally displaced fellow citizens – and now an eerie silence. The guns have quieted but what sounds will replace them? Will it be the laughter of children in Kiryat Shmona? Will it be the cries of families who return to a destroyed home? Will it be the bickering of politicians over who is to blame and how to divide the pie? What will fill the enormous void that 124 fallen soldiers in the north have left us? Will it be joy or sorrow? After so much sacrifice, I can’t bear to have the answer be anything other than a positive one. But as a realist (or as a pessimist) I wonder if we are capable of turning the a fresh page.

In a previous blog, I recalled an conversation with a friend after my first Gaza war in which he questioned whether anything was accomplished. At the time I refused to entertain such depressing notion. Truth be told, I still can’t — the idea that our herculean sacrifices could possibly have been in vain. However, one cannot escape the nagging horror that Israel, as a country and as a society, is currently at an inflection point — and it may well fail the test. Will our unbearable sacrifice lead to a new beginning, or will we return to the status quo ante? Will our political leadership have the courage to make tough calls, or cave into pressure? Will Israelis be able to find common ground and build forward, or will we lapse into our old habits of self-destruction — as if our enemies haven’t done enough already?

It is encouraging that over the past year Israel has shed its mental block over seriously confronting external enemies. Fifteen months ago, Hezbollah was considered such a leviathan that Israel’s government and military were afraid to remove a flimsy tent — in sovereign Israeli territory. Now we have targeted Hezbollah in every corner of Lebanon — south of the Litani and beyond. There are also signs that as domestically we are internalizing the lesson that the reality of October 6th cannot be our future. But there are also signs of wavering, of a desire to brush difficult questions under the rug.

I sincerely hope that Israel has learned the lessons from this horrific war, but tragically I do not believe that our leadership is cut out for this pivotal moment. Those very leaders who now call for us to trust its decisions, to guide us forward into the unknown “day after,” are the same ones who for decades watched, neglected or even facilitated the buildup of Hezbollah, Hamas, and Iran on our borders – wistfully hoping for continued calm — the infamous conceptzia. The same leadership that has been playing on Israeli divisions to stay in power — how can it be trusted to lead forward a new national consensus? To make the tough policy decisions, even ones that may cost them politically?

Maybe our leadership has learned the proper takeaways from October 7th and the year of fighting since. Maybe not. However, along the way any semblance of trust leadership should instill in its citizens has been irrevocably shattered. It was shattered by the unfathomable events of October 7th, it continues to be smashed by the languishing of 101 hostages in Gazan hell, and frankly, the groundwork for the fraying of trust in Israeli society has been in place for years. We cannot simply pick up the pieces with them and continue where we left off. Something has got to give

However, where our politicians failed, ordinary Israeli citizens have stepped up, through acts of extraordinary courage. This was clear on October 7th, when hundreds heard what was happening and rushed down to help, no matter the cost. It continued throughout the war, as people of all walks of life gave from themselves what they could — food, money, gear, time, labor — all to help the soldiers, the internally displaced, the bereaved and hostage families. And most of all, it was apparent in that great “melting pot” — the IDF itself, where soldiers could argue heatedly about the judicial reform and then literally bleed for one another on the battlefield. 

If that spark of pure good, of shared destiny, of unshakeable determination — existed then — it can continue now. The question then becomes how to translate these lofty ideals into a practical routine, an enduring new normal of togetherness? And how to then, together, choose a path forward together that will lead Israel to a brighter “day after”?

I wish I had an easy answer to this question. In fact, I wish I had any answer at all. The truth is that I don’t. Because if it were easy it would have been achieved long ago. But by no means does that mean giving up. After a year of war, of death and destruction, and in such a hostile region — we simply don’t have that privilege. The only viable alternative then is to persevere and build especially in the absence of worthy leadership. This is a debt to the fallen, to our children we fought to protect, and to ourselves — that we must pay back in full. 

Kadima. Onwards and upwards.