Israelis navigate normal life amid danger and anxiety

(JTA) - TEL AVIV - As she read the news about a looming attack from Iran and its proxies, Adi Tamir faced a series of dilemmas: Should she go ahead with her weekend vacation on the banks of the Jordan River? Living in a town near Israel's northern coastline - well within reach of Hezbollah's rockets - should she leave her house at all?

She settled on a compromise: She wouldn't go on the vacation to Israel's border with Jordan - but she also wouldn't remain hunkered down at home.

"I'm not going to play with destiny to that degree," she said about her vacation plans.

"But I am going out," she added. "I don't want to stop my life because of a 'what if.' We're living in a shitty situation but the best we can do is understand we're not in control and just surrender to that fact."

For months, Israelis across the country have faced similar decisions, as daily life goes on amidst a multi-front conflict that has regularly spilled over into population centers and left once-popular recreation spots deserted. Israelis have gotten used to a constant cognitive dissonance - surrounded by reminders of the war and all those who have been killed or taken hostage - while they go to work, send their children to school and, often, go out to eat or enjoy themselves despite the risks. That tension has only mounted as Israel braces for an attack from Iran after a strike on a Hamas leader in Tehran.

"It's like living in 2 realities at the same time here," Karin Hershkovitz, an Israeli influencer who lives in the United States but is visiting her family in Israel this summer, posted on Instagram last week. "Working, kids, 'routine,' partying and living life - while dealing with grief, actual threats and uncertainty constantly."

Sometimes the contrast is striking. Hours after a drone shot from Yemen exploded blocks away from the Tel Aviv beach last month, killing a local worker, the shore was crowded with locals enjoying a weekend in the sun.

A group of families gathered for a weekly surfing class - only one had canceled in the wake of the strike - and the traffic of cars, bikes, scooters and pedestrians continued as normal. A passerby, surrounded by busy cafes and shops, would be forgiven for not knowing the bustling area had been the site of an international terror attack that morning.

"I thought about not coming for like half a second but to be honest, I'm far more concerned about jellyfish," Ofer Zimri said laughing.

The overcrowded beach indicated that others shared Zimri's sentiment. Near the water, a couple sat on the sand drinking beer.

"Life here happens at such a crazy pace, that you forget. One day, there's an attack, and the next it's business as usual," Amit Mizrahi said.

But like many Israelis, he had made some life changes following Oct. 7. He obtained a license for a weapon, then the gun itself, and stays vigilant in public places, constantly scanning for exits and monitoring for suspicious activity.

"Just last week there was a terror attack near my house in Rishon LeZion," he said, referencing a car-ramming attack in which a soldier was killed and three more wounded. "But it doesn't matter what happens, I still feel safe. Because it's our home, you know?"

For many Israelis, the losses of Oct, 7 and the war have been close and personal. A man named Ziv had a childhood friend who was killed at the Nova music festival, and another friend who lost both legs fighting in Gaza. Ziv said he is waiting to be called up to the army again.

In the meantime, Ziv was skateboarding at a nearby park. During a rest between kickflips, he waxed lyrical about life in the shadow of war.

"Life is the medicine for the opposite of life, which is loss," he said. "My life is on pause but I'm trying to go back to routine as much as possible. I go to the psychologist, I go skateboarding. The movement is good, it brings down the pain and the stress."

Some Israelis see going out as a demonstration of defiance. At a recent concert headlined by Jewish American rapper Kosha Dillz, Michelle Long said she feels a responsibility not to give way to depression or, as she termed it, "drop the ball."

"We're all living double lives. You see something bad has happened, your heart flips and then you put your phone back in your pocket and continue," she said.

"Well, sometimes you can continue like normal," she continued. "Other times you act completely crazy. And sometimes you don't even know what's affecting your behavior anymore."

Noah Shufutinsky, one of the night's opening acts who performs under his rap name Westside Gravy, said his music has changed significantly since Oct. 7.

"The new normal means that I'm not going to go and perform regular songs that I perform at any other time. I'm not going to make music just for the fun of it," Shufutinsky said. "A lot of that for me has shifted to talking about the issues that Israelis are going through and trying to reflect a little bit of the society that I'm a part of now, through music."

For Kim Feldman, going to a rap concert or any other event involving tickets and advanced planning has become too daunting since Oct. 7. Instead, she said she enjoys simpler evenings with friends, such as a screening of "The Princess Bride" in a local park, part of a free weekly outdoor movie series.

"I can't plan to party. I can plan to sit in the park," Feldman said. "It's really nice to go somewhere super relaxed and social but without going out of your way. It's a comfortable socialization, with less pressure and less expectations.

Gesturing around her, she said, "Just look at the amount of babies and dogs there are here."

Many Israelis say that the atmosphere in public is not the same as it was in the first couple of months of the war, when the shock oif Oct. 7 was still raw. "Everything felt tainted and weird," Feldman said.

"The thing that freaked me out was how few young men there were on the streets and then, how many of them were injured," Feldman said of the hundreds of thousands who reported for military service. "It's nine months later and in a way, the longer it goes on the harder it is. You're not trying to be disrespectful but you're trying to find a balance where you can continue to live as normally as possible."

At a standup show, popular comedian Udi Kagan was interrupted by the sound of a newborn crying. He asked the infant's mother how she could have planned to attend the evening when tickets sold out months in advance. The woman answered that she got the ticket from a reserve soldier who was called up to Gaza at the last moment.

"It just reflected the whole mood in the country," said audience member Idan Cohen, who recalled the exchange. "You used to take things as a given, but now you can't. From the smallest thing - like whether you'll end up going to the standup comedy you bought tickets for - to the biggest thing, whether you're safe in your bed at night."

Cohen added, "But life carries on, especially for the kids. During the holidays it's the hardest."

Israelis have perhaps been quickest to change their plans when it comes to traveling and vacations. Anat Shihor-Aronson, a spokesperson for the Ministry of Tourism, cited two main reasons for the trend: many airlines have canceled flights due to the war, and many Israelis are reluctant to travel abroad, a feeling fueled both by increasing antisemitism overseas and a strong desire to be near their loved ones.

"If God forbid something happens, they're staying in Israel so they can be close to home," Shihor-Aronson said.

As a result, hotels in Israel are operating at 90 to 100 percent capacity, despite having only about 10 to 20 percent of the usual number of foreign tourists typically present during the summer months. The occupancy rates are also higher due to approximately 24,000 evacuees, mostly from Israel's embattled northern region, who are currently residing in the hotels.

Shihor-Aronson expressed optimism about the future of foreign tourism, noting a steady rise in numbers even during wartime. While most of those arriving are Jewish and evangelical Christian tourists, whom she described as the "loyal market," there have been more and more volunteer and solidarity groups visiting - at least until most airlines scrapped flights this week in response to the Iran threat.

Some Israelis, like Tamir, are canceling their trips altogether. Cohen nixed an annual family trip to a campsite in the north due to frequent Hezbollah attacks in the area.

"There are so many spots we can't go to, Cohen said. "it's just too dangerous."

And while life has in many ways returned to normal in Israel's cities, one visitor said that shift also reflects a dreary reality.

"The beach volleyball courts are full. Life goes on," Jonathan Jaffe, a New York-based rabbi in the country for the third time since the outbreak of the war, wrote on Facebook after the Tel Aviv attack. "You can see this as either an uplifting story of resilience displayed by a community that refuses to bow to terror, or a less optimistic tale of a region that has become all too accustomed to mornings like this."