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On October 7, nothing happened to you.
You didnāt die. All of your loved ones are alive. Your kids werenāt kidnapped. Nobody in your immediate circle is missing.
This country is so tiny, that like everyone else, you know people whose world has been shattered - in your case, people you know only distantly, or from long ago. Here only three degrees separate between one person and another - when they're living. If theyāre dead, itās just two.
You know this could have happened to you. To your children. There's not a single mother in this country this monstrous idea hasn't crossed her mind, tightening heart and womb.
Nothing happened to you.
Your senses are in hyper mode. A speeding motorbike is a siren. A crinkling plastic bag is a group of monsters in hiding, ready for ambush. A slamming door is a break-in. A barking dog is an attacking terrorist.
You have trouble sleeping. You fall asleep in the middle of the night, and wake up not much later. You imagine things that didnāt happen to you. Phantom pains of strangersā limbs slice through your body. You cry for people you donāt know.
Nothing happened to you.
You look for ways to do something for those to whom things did happen. You volunteer for one initiative, and then another. Everyone says that the spirit of giving is astounding and empowering. In your mind you know this is true, but in your heart you feel nothing.
In general, you feel what didn't happen to you so much, that you donāt feel what does.
Nothing happened to you.
Only your soul is kidnapped, your attention is missing, and your heart has been taken hostage.
And maybe you did die a little.






















