Israel at War: Can a Country Ever Return to Normal?
- Caroline Haïat
- 6 minutes ago
- 5 min read
Ethan is five years old. Every evening, the same ritual begins. His mother kisses him goodnight and quietly closes the bedroom door. A few minutes later, a small voice calls out:
"Mom, I don't want to go to sleep... I'm scared the siren will go off."
Ethan knows the route to the bomb shelter by heart. His reality mirrors that of thousands of Israelis whose daily lives have been profoundly disrupted for nearly three years. Every day, they live with the fear of having to rush to a shelter once again.
Can Israel ever regain the sense of normalcy it knew before? Or has this prolonged period of war permanently transformed Israeli society? Since October 7, 2023, life has been irrevocably shaken. Overnight, millions of Israelis found themselves living in a new reality marked by uncertainty, anxiety and a succession of crises that have challenged everything once considered stable. Hope for a peaceful tomorrow has become increasingly elusive. But what kind of peace? Peace with hostile neighbors appears distant. Can internal stability, at least, ever be restored?
"Children are extremely sensitive to the emotional climate around them," says Carinne Leibovici, a psychologist based in Tel Aviv. "Even if they haven't directly experienced traumatic events, they absorb the tension."
Living on constant alert
Between each military escalation involving Iran, Hamas, the Houthis or Hezbollah, Israelis return to work, meet friends, go to restaurants and try to enjoy every possible moment. Yet beneath the surface, little has truly returned to normal.
The sound of an ambulance siren, a distant explosion or even a sudden movement in a crowd can instantly trigger anxiety and flashbacks.
Sitting at a café on Tel Aviv's bustling Dizengoff Street, Rotem, a woman in her early thirties, has developed a new routine. Rather than staying alone at home, she works from the same café every morning. Throughout the day, friends stop by for coffee, lunch or a few hours of work. Their conversations begin with work, travel plans or weekend activities before almost inevitably turning to the war.
"It's become impossible not to talk about the security situation. It's as if it's become part of who we are," she says. "I constantly keep an eye on my phone in case there's an early warning about missiles from Iran. Whenever I go somewhere, I immediately check where the nearest shelter is and pay attention to emergency exits. Before all this, I could leave my phone on airplane mode for hours just to disconnect. Now that's unimaginable. We've lost a certain innocence."
The invisible wounds remain deeply embedded. Resilience helps people endure difficult times, but it does not erase anxiety. Living in a permanent state of hypervigilance has left many emotionally exhausted.
The economic consequences have only deepened the strain. Numerous small businesses have closed, forcing owners to reinvent themselves, while Israel's once-thriving high-tech sector has endured one of the most difficult periods in its history, with thousands of layoffs.
What is striking today is no longer simply the fear itself, but how unconsciously it has become woven into everyday life.
Potential rocket alerts are now factored into daily schedules as naturally as traffic or the weather. Planning vacations, family events or even a simple evening out has become uncertain, with the possibility that everything could be cancelled overnight if another conflict erupts. The extraordinary has gradually become ordinary.
The Long Shadow of Trauma
"The psychological consequences I observe most frequently are chronic stress, emotional exhaustion and, in many cases, physical fatigue," explains Carinne Leibovici.
"For many people, trauma has settled in quietly. It manifests itself through persistent anxiety, difficulty concentrating and increased irritability."
According to Leibovici, one of the greatest challenges lies in the fact that Israelis have not yet been able to fully grieve or rebuild.
"Despite remarkable resilience, extraordinary solidarity and an incredible ability to keep moving forward, uncertainty remains constant. Our nervous systems have stayed switched on for nearly three years. They continue mobilizing our bodies' resources while gradually draining our energy."
Amir, an engineer from Tel Aviv and father of two boys, has spent 230 days in reserve duty.
He never imagined he would spend more time on the battlefield than playing with his children. His youngest son, born in December 2023, has barely known him. Repeated deployments to Gaza have left him questioning the personal sacrifices he has made for his country—a feeling shared by many fellow reservists.
"This is a war of attrition," he says.
"You can feel the exhaustion throughout society, and that affects us deeply. My family life has been completely put on hold, and those stolen moments with my children will never come back. Before the war, I thought about my career. Today, I mostly think about where I'll be deployed next."
Reservists are among those most vulnerable to long-term psychological trauma.
"Many struggle with guilt toward their families," Leibovici explains. "Others feel isolated or misunderstood, even by people who love them. The sentence I hear most often is: 'They just can't understand.'"
Although the war has affected Israeli society as a whole, its impact has not been experienced equally. Distrust toward certain communities has intensified. Arab Israelis, Druze and Bedouins often describe living with a dual anxiety: fear of the ongoing conflict itself and fear of how others now perceive them.
Rami, an Arab taxi driver in central Israel, says he has experienced levels of discrimination he had rarely encountered before October 7.
"People are afraid to get into a car driven by an Arab," he says. "Some immediately associate us with terrorism and become suspicious. It's heartbreaking because we, too, have suffered from this war. Hamas doesn't distinguish between Jews and Arabs. Today the consequences for Arab society are enormous. Racism has increased dramatically, and that's worrying for our future. We need to rebuild trust and learn to live together again."
Further north, in Nazareth, Musa, who runs a guesthouse, says tourism has yet to recover.
"The war drove tourists away for many months," he explains. "Even domestic tourism has slowed considerably. Something has fundamentally changed."
The deep political and social divisions that already existed before the war have only widened, weakening social cohesion and leaving many Israelis doubtful that lasting peace is anywhere near.
Hope Tempered by Doubt
On Tel Aviv's beachfront, two lifelong friends who recently completed their military service sit drinking beer while watching a beach volleyball match.
Ron and Elie have shared every stage of life together—from kindergarten to high school, military service and countless nights out. Like many young Israelis, they are now planning the traditional post-army backpacking trip abroad.
Yet one question overshadows their future: what kind of future awaits the next generation?
"We try to enjoy peaceful moments," Ron says, "but it feels like there's no end in sight. We genuinely hope for calmer days, yet hostility across the region continues, making optimism difficult. Just when one conflict seems to end, another begins."
Carinne Leibovici sees the same uncertainty among many of her younger patients.
"Those leaving the military often struggle to imagine their future," she says. "This is a generation whose transition into adulthood has been defined by one crisis after another. Many dream of travelling simply to disconnect—to escape for a while."
"In psychology, we know that it's extremely difficult to process trauma while the surrounding environment continues to feel dangerous. Resilience doesn't mean the absence of suffering. It means finding the ability to keep living, building relationships and making plans despite ongoing uncertainty."
Will normal life eventually return? Or is Israel slowly creating a new version of normal that its citizens will simply have to adapt to? Perhaps the real question is no longer when Israel will return to normal, but whether that normality still exists. For nearly three years, Israelis have learned to live with a profound paradox. Cafés remain crowded, beaches fill with families every weekend, businesses continue operating and life moves forward. Yet almost everyone keeps one eye on their phone, waiting for the next alert. The unanswered question is how long a society can remain in a permanent state of vigilance before that vigilance fundamentally reshapes its identity.
Caroline Haïat