I'll start from the personal, and then move to the political.

Zohar and I woke up Friday morning to the news: war with Iran. Our hairdresser, who lives just 15 minutes away on foot, texted us to say he had a safe room, but it would be fine if we preferred to cancel our appointment. Apparently, we were the only clients who didn’t cancel. If we die, at least our hair will look good.

On our way back, we bought bottled water, nuts, and almonds. I refuse to let either Khamenei or Netanyahu reduce me to canned food.

After several nights of multiple air raid sirens— the boom sounds were far louder than anything we’ve heard from Hamas, the Houthis, or Hezbollah—and with our building shaking, we realized it was time to set up the safe room for long stays. We opened the folding sofa, charged the emergency radio and flashlight, and packed go-bags. Passports. Medications. Cash. Chargers. We even arranged the bags for our two cats, though we doubt we'll be able to find them if the building takes a direct hit.

Friends' bar mitzvahs and weddings have been canceled—so was the party I’d planned to celebrate my academic promotion. (Life goes on, even in this endless war.) Maybe I’ll find the energy to reschedule.

Everything feels contradictory. Surreal. Amid death, destruction, and uncertainty, we’re still far more fortunate than civilians in Gaza. We’re not displaced. We’re not starving. We have shelters.

And strangely, these days come with unexpected moments of grace. Zohar is home—he now works in a kindergarten. This is new. Remember how, when I reported from the early days of the October 7 war, he had volunteered for agricultural work? He fell in love with being outdoors and later found a job as a kindergarten aide in a forest school near our home. All the activities take place outside. He’s thrilled with this change.

While schools and universities have moved online, his work is paused. I'm not teaching this semester either. So we’ve found ourselves in a kind of domestic bubble. I’ve gone back to therapeutic cooking—just like during the COVID lockdowns—but now with my new obsession: the magical Ninja Grill. We nap in the middle of the day. We have good conversations. I’ve been doing a lot of yoga, and today, a massage therapist from our neighborhood—she doesn’t have a safe room, which is the first question people ask these days—came over. She taught Zohar a few quick techniques to ease my chronic upper back pain. I don’t know how we manage to hold both the anxiety and the peace, but we do. That must be the magic of human resilience.

And now, to politics.

Whatever tactical justification this campaign against Iran had—and it’s undeniably tactically sophisticated and impressive—it's impossible to observe Netanyahu’s actions without suspicion. His primary concern has always been his political survival. Cross-examinations in his long-running trial just began, and they are proving burdensome. Yestrday, the government extended the emergency state at least until the end of June. No in-person classes. No public gatherings. No mass protests. Conveniently, the courts enter summer recess on July 21 and won’t return until September. A drawn-out war could buy him a quieter summer.

The war also diverts public and legal attention from the Qatar investigation, which probes suspicious ties between Netanyahu’s aides and the Qatari regime. And of course, it draws attention away from the hostages in Gaza and the ongoing war there. Just today, 59 Gazans were killed while trying to receive food aid. The silence around this is deafening, even compared to the meager attention we paid before.

As time goes on, the rationale for this campaign is starting to fray. We might have bought ourselves only a year’s delay on Iran’s nuclear capability. Will we use that year to negotiate? Netanyahu, after all, pressured Trump 1.0 to pull out of the original deal, and he’s remained steadfastly opposed to any regional diplomatic initiative over the past two and a half years.

One disturbing development I haven’t seen discussed much: public discourse in Israel is turning Iran into the new Gaza. Even Kan News, the Israeli public broadcaster—usually the most restrained and balanced—has started referring to Iranian soldiers as “terrorists.” The war's objective appears to be shifting. No longer simply about halting Iran’s nuclear progress, but now about regime change—just like with Hamas. So targets such as television stations are rendered legitimate.

Someone wise tweeted recently that it's ironic: the same Israelis who didn’t protest against their own government, which undermines their freedoms, are now urging Iranians to rise against theirs.

There's also growing public anger at the hierarchy of lives. Ministers and their families were taken to underground bunkers. Hundreds of thousands of ordinary Israelis—particularly in under-resourced towns and Palestinian communities—have no such protection. There are rumors that despite the ban on weddings, Netanyahu’s son married secretly, not with a modest guest list but with many attendees. Who knows. Like so many autocratic regimes before them, this government has long abandoned any commitment to transparency.

Meanwhile, the Knesset is quietly advancing more anti-democratic legislation, attempting to further politicize the courts and dismantle remaining guardrails.

Still, maybe I’m in an echo chamber. A reputable poll from yesterday found that 33% of Jewish Israelis report feeling pride, and 28% feel hopeful. Only 28% said fear was their dominant emotion, and just 11% reported despair. Among Arab citizens, the numbers were starkly different: 69% report fear, 25% despair. Very few feel hope or pride. I am with the fearful. Trying not to sink into despair.