We always knew we would end up back here

In Israel today, the air tastes wild, like wood ash and melted plastic.

The smell lingers on your clothes, in your hair, on your skin.

We walk around hungover from whatever is coming next- we watched the children scurry around last night as they celebrated lag baomer, fire reflecting on their faces.

We encouraged them to be free while we still could.

Go to that party. One more marshmallow. One last dance.

We hear the planes thundering overhead in anger.

The news shouting at us in warning.

The feeds filling up with predictions.

There is a readiness in the air - the pause before we dive back down into the unknown.

Before we pick up where we left off.

We always knew we would end up back here.

We knew this pause was temporary- the war couldn't end like this.

Last night's flames were mystical, but they didn't tell the future.

Yet, you don't need to be a soothsayer to know that -

We aren't safe yet.

Aren't finished yet.

They aren't free yet.

We knew that the second the sirens stopped, we'd be left in the lurch.

So today we force ourselves to continue as usual.

Knowing that time is ticking.

We think:

Better get your errands done now.

Get that one last look at the ocean.

Have that meeting before it's too late.

Before survival mode returns.

And life is suspended in wartime.