Coming home after war in awe of Israelis

A few weeks ago, I found myself stuck in Israel during a war. What began as a short work trip for a conference in Tel Aviv turned into a two-week stay in a country under fire. But unexpectedly, I didn’t feel afraid.

After spending a week in Tel Aviv, I headed to my friend’s house in Tzafaria to relax for a few days before flying home. I had barely arrived when, at about 02:30, the sirens started blaring. News broke that Israel had launched an attack on Iran. Within seconds, we were in the bomb shelter.

That moment marked the beginning of 12 intense days, not just of conflict, but of resilience, clarity, and deep pride in the systems that keep Israel functioning under unimaginable pressure.

Throughout those two weeks, we were woken multiple times in the middle of the night by sirens warning of incoming rockets. We would rush to the mamad in our pyjamas, children in tow, and sit there listening to the distant and not-so-distant thuds of explosions. Sometimes the walls shook. On more than one occasion, we saw flashes of light streaking across the sky – fiery debris from intercepted rockets, glowing against the darkness. It was real. It was raw. It was war.

Yet I didn’t feel afraid.

What I felt was awe, not just at the scale of the conflict, but at the systems Israel has in place to manage it.

From the outside, war feels chaotic, unstable, and helpless. But from inside Israel, it feels incredibly organised, deeply prepared, and – above all – focused on the safety of every individual. The Home Front Command app sent alerts with military precision, giving us exact times and locations for every siren. The network of bomb shelters, private and public, meant that people always had a safe space to run to.

Every system worked. The sirens worked. The alerts worked. The shelters worked. And, for the most part, the Iron Dome worked, intercepting rocket after rocket in mid-air with breathtaking efficiency. Tragically, some missiles still got through. Not everyone was as lucky as I was. Homes were damaged and lives were lost. Even the most advanced technology can’t offer perfect protection. Every casualty is a tragedy, and each one underscores the terrifying reality Israelis live with – that war can come to your doorstep at any moment.

As a South African, I couldn’t help but compare what I was seeing to the reality back home. I’m used to a government often embroiled in corruption scandals, with basic services collapsing and public trust at an all-time low. Loadshedding, broken infrastructure, and mismanagement have become part of daily life. Experiencing a country where the government has gone to such lengths to protect its people – not just in word, but in deed – was deeply moving. It was the kind of care and accountability I had never seen at a national level before.

But it wasn’t just the technology or the government systems that left an impression. It was the people.

I witnessed ordinary Israelis jump into action, not just for each other, but for the thousands of foreigners who suddenly found themselves stuck in a war zone. WhatsApp groups sprang up within hours with people offering spare rooms, transport, food, anything they could. Strangers connected with strangers to make sure everyone had a place to stay and someone to call if they needed help.

And the most extraordinary thing? They did all of this while their own lives were being upended. These weren’t acts of charity done from a place of comfort. These were people responding to crisis while living through one themselves. They helped others while their own kids were being rushed into bomb shelters. While their own flights were cancelled. While their own relatives were being called up for reserve duty.

I was fortunate to have friends to stay with throughout this period. I joined them and their children in many middle-of-the-night sessions sitting on the floor of the mamad, wrapped in blankets, waiting for the all-clear while the windows and doors rattled from nearby blasts. The days were oddly quiet, almost surreal, punctuated by moments of tension, updates, and preparation. In those two weeks, I experienced a version of Israel most people outside its borders never get to see: a country under fire, yes, but also a country bound together by purpose, preparedness, and solidarity.

Yet even as I felt protected and supported, a growing concern loomed over many of us: how were we going to get home?

When the airspace reopened, the first commercial flights were routed through Europe. For South Africans, those flights weren’t an option. Our passports require visas for many European countries, and we didn’t have them. It meant we were effectively stuck, even as the skies opened for others.

That’s when the South African Jewish Board of Deputies stepped in, while our national government stayed silent. It worked with Ethiopian Airlines to expedite flights, lobbying tirelessly behind the scenes to get earlier departures and more seats for South African citizens. Its efforts resulted in flights that enabled hundreds of us to return home quickly and safely, myself included.

Sitting on the plane to Addis Ababa, I finally exhaled. I was going home – physically, at least. But emotionally, something had shifted.

Yes, I had just lived through a war. Yes, I had heard the walls of my temporary home shake with explosions. But I had also seen what it means to truly care for your people – from government infrastructure to grassroots kindness. I had seen a Jewish state, a Jewish community, and a Jewish global network come together with quiet strength to keep its people safe, connected, and supported.

And I felt proud.

• Mendy Grauman is the youth programme consultant at the Israel Centre, and runs a video and photography company.