The following report from Israel arrived via email not long before this Hakol went to press. It comes from Deborah Sullum, an internationally recognized artist who lived in Allentown before moving to Israel in 1995.
Daniel and I live in Bat Galim (Daughter of the Waves). It once was a tranquil haven in Haifa, but the harsh realities of war have shattered its idyllic charm. Nestled on the Haifa bay with its picturesque waterfront promenade, the neighborhood resembled a close-knit village, bustling with life and simple joys—a bakery, coffee shop, local cooperative bar, and ice cream shop serving as community anchors. Families strolled, cyclists pedaled, and life flowed peacefully, much like the fictional town in Gilmore Girls. But all of this changed on October 7, 2023, when the echoes of war replaced the gentle hum of daily life.
Initially, the residents of Haifa felt somewhat insulated from the conflict, our bomb shelters ready but rarely used. The fighting seemed distant, concentrated in Gaza, and while each loss of life was deeply felt, the threat did not yet touch our homes. However, by September 2024 this fragile sense of safety was shattered as Hezbollah intensified its attacks in the north. The once sleepy village found itself under siege, with daily missile barrages and the ominous wail of sirens becoming an inescapable routine.
For two months now, Haifa and its surrounding areas have endured relentless missile attacks. Beaches are deserted, restaurants have closed, schools have shifted to Zoom or been canceled altogether, and we live in a constant state of vigilance, dashing to bomb shelters at a moment’s notice. What was once a vibrant and peaceful community now grapples with the new normal of war—an existence defined by uncertainty, resilience, and the hope that someday, life might return to the quiet rhythm it once knew.
Our grandchildren also live in Bat Galim. They are being deprived of their innocence. The profound impact of this war has damaged their sense of security and well-being.
Our 4-year-old grandchild Canaan insists on sleeping with his shoes on, ready to flee to the bomb shelter when he hears a siren. He has developed a multitude of fears that are etched into his young mind.
The twins, Mika and Sinai, age 7, transform their fear into play, mimicking sirens and parental roles of bringing the children to the bomb shelter. It is a heartbreaking mix of resilience and coping, showing how children adapt to unthinkable circumstances but cannot escape their underlying fears.
Our fourth grandchild, Yair, at just 13, becomes an emblem of courage and responsibility, embodying resilience far beyond his years. When home alone one evening with his siblings, a siren sounded. Yair dashed to the twins’ bunkbeds and began to rush them toward the three flights of stairs to their bomb shelter. Simultaneously he grabbed Canaan. He cradled the sleeping 4-year-old in his developing muscular arms and made the mad dash to the shelter. All of this had to happen within 1 minute—the time allotted to safely get to a shelter. His instinct to protect his younger siblings during an air raid siren shows maturity born of necessity, not choice. Despite his love for basketball and a desire for normalcy, he bears the weight of responsibilities no child should have to carry.
No child should grow up equating sirens with danger, safety with a bomb shelter, or play with survival. It’s a sobering reminder of the need for peace and the profound importance of safeguarding children’s innocence and security in times of conflict.