
Israel

From bomb shelters to brunch, expats struggle to adjust
With the flick of a switch, life in Israel has gone back to normal. However, for some, the trauma endured over 12 days of having ballistic missiles fired at them is hard to overcome.
For Cape Town-born Marisa Sarfatti, life hasn’t gone back to normal after a ballistic missile exploded metres away from her Tel Aviv apartment, destroying it and not allowing her to return home.
She said that since she can’t return home, she is staying in a hotel and trying to do everything she can to rebuild her home.
“There’s a lot of bureaucracy that you have to navigate, so it’s frustrating,” she said, “it’s frustrating in terms of trying to get things moving in the right direction, like compensation. All of it is sticky and slow, which is pretty frustrating when you just want to get back into your home. I’m driving things pretty fast compared to others. Especially as I have a great circle of friends and a community helping. But it’s still too slow.”
Though many like Sarfatti have been able to return to work, there’s still an unshakeable feeling of exhaustion throughout the country.
“A lot of people feel exhausted because their adrenaline is so high,” she said. “A lot of people are just sort of crashing down. It’s a bizarre reality – one minute you’re under threat, and the next, there’s a ceasefire and you’re supposed to get back to normal – so it’s quite complex.”
Sarfatti said moving into a hotel room with her three cats has been an adjustment.
“You don’t realise that you have systems in place when you live in your home. You’ve got a system of running things, and something happens and suddenly, that system, even something like doing laundry, falls to the wayside. You’ve got to reconfigure the way your life works.”
Clinical psychologist Serenne Kaplan said that Israel’s relationship with trauma is as old as the nation itself.
“There’s a certain paradox that defines daily life in Israel: the oscillation between the chaos of war and the calm of ceasefire,” she said. “The 12-day war with Iran brought a new brand of fear and uncertainty as the playing field expanded. For many Israelis, moving from bomb shelters to beach cafés isn’t a contradiction, it’s a coping mechanism.”
Tammy Swisa, who recently made aliya to Jerusalem, said that though life has gone back to normal, there is a quiet tension throughout the country. “What’s most surprising is how quickly life bounced back. The day after the ceasefire, restrictions were lifted, people returned to work, flights resumed, and the streets filled up again. Life just continued. Of course, the war affected people, especially those who lost loved ones or have soldiers on the frontlines, but there’s this deep sense here that life must go on. People carry that tension quietly.”
Tali Stern said that throughout her 15 years of living in Israel, she had seen her fair share of rocket fire, and once they stopped, it was a quick switch to go back to normal. However, this time is different. “The anxiety doesn’t dissipate with the signing of an agreement. Every ambulance, every motorcycle, certain tones of the wind blowing, a cellphone rings, the builders across the street have my heart racing as I think I have heard a siren,” he said. “The exhaustion is overwhelming – two weeks of random sleep and of being pulled from our beds every night to take shelter. The country is open, and things are “normal”, but my body isn’t willing to co-operate.”
Similarly, Shira Jackson Snapper said that though her home in Ra’anana wasn’t directly affected, she is still seeing the effects of the 12 days under fire in her children. “Our children wake up in the night with nightmares,” she said. “They also have extreme anxiety at night, and we all jump from loud noises. We all went back to life, but the dread that something is coming lingers.”
Said Stern, “The confusion, the brain fog, and hyper-awareness are still rampant. There’s also the disappointment and anticlimax of knowing we went through all of this and we didn’t get the ending we expected. It feels futile, like a game with our lives. With the expectation that we will pick up and move forward, and with the anxiety from weeks of war, a sort of depression sets in. It’s not easy just to pick up where we left off before our homeland was hit, before our people died, and before our lives were upended for what now feels like an unclosed event.”
Jess Lurie, who made aliya in November 2024, said, “It’s like someone pressed the pause button for 12 days and then pressed play. During the 12 days, the streets would be empty, and shops would be closed. Now, it’s like nothing happened. Things are back to normal at night and as lively as ever. It’s been difficult as it feels like there was no closure. We went from one extreme to the next. Life continues, but I guess that’s also one of the strongest parts of the Israeli nation. It makes a way to continue life.”
Michelle Essers said that though she has lived in Israel for 15 years, the recent attack by Iran was the worst she had ever experienced, and she is struggling to get back to the sense of life being back to what it was. Essers said she still had her bag packed with necessities for the shelters. “It’s put away safely, but maybe at the back of my head, I don’t believe that the war with Iran is over.”
Said Kaplan, “The surreal transition from crisis to calm can be just as psychologically jarring as the onset of war. Suddenly, the hypervigilance that served as a psychological shield must be dismantled. This isn’t seamless.
“Peace, even if temporary, isn’t just the absence of war. It’s the presence of life. Israelis understand this better than most. And from the shelter to the sidewalk café, their journey back to normality is a testament to the enduring strength of the human spirit.”
