A report on children living in Israel by Ina Ora Nisa
Living in Israel as a parent in times of war has reshaped how I view safety, resilience, and community, especially regarding the impact on children. A year and a half ago, when we first moved to Israel, life here was peaceful and calm. Our kids would go to school, we would go to work, and socializing after school was woven into our daily routines. We felt part of a normal, thriving society.
When we rented our apartment, I remember the landlord pointing out the safety room built into the unit—a legal requirement for new buildings to include a missile-resistant space. He mentioned it almost apologetically, assuring us that it probably wouldn’t be needed. Yet, over the past year, we have found ourselves seeking refuge in that room more times than we could have anticipated. Alarms, sometimes waking us in the dead of night, would send us scrambling to wake the kids and head to the safety room, where we’d wait until it was safe to step back into the familiar space of our home.
Living in Israel during a time of ongoing conflict has become our new reality. From an outsider’s perspective, life here may still look ordinary. People in cities like Tel Aviv and Jerusalem go about their daily routines; streets buzz with traffic, cafes serve coffee, and families picnic in parks. But beneath this semblance of normalcy, the psychological toll is profound. Children here have become more alert to their surroundings in ways they shouldn’t have to be. They’re learning to recognize and categorize sounds—to distinguish “safe” sounds from those signaling danger. Before heading outside to play, they double-check the location of the nearest shelter or rehearse a mental list of emergency steps in case of a sudden rocket alert.
This constant vigilance has robbed them of a fundamental sense of security. Bedtime can be one of the hardest moments. Many children no longer feel safe sleeping in their rooms; some prefer the security of the shelter, while others insist on sleeping with their parents—even those well into their preteens. These children are grappling with fears far beyond their years, asking questions about mortality, experiencing outbursts, and expressing fears like, “I don’t want to die.”
The impact doesn’t stop at home. Many fathers have been called to serve, leaving mothers to juggle the responsibilities of work, childcare, and daily life while also reassuring their children that everything is “okay,” even when it feels far from it. When fathers return home, they face a difficult transition. Many, understandably, come back with a haunted look in their eyes, having witnessed trauma and devastation. Reintegrating into family life is challenging when their children need them to be present, playful, and protective.
To help children cope with this trauma, various therapeutic solutions have been introduced. Animal therapy has been especially beneficial. Many children are now engaged in horse therapy, where they build a bond with these majestic creatures. In riding and caring for horses, children find a sense of control, self-worth, and confidence that can be elusive elsewhere. They learn to connect, to trust, and to feel in charge of their environment, even if only for a short time.
Other forms of therapy, like art and music therapy, have also been helpful, offering a safe outlet for children to express fears and anxieties they may struggle to verbalize. Mental health support at schools and within community organizations provides an essential layer of support, helping children feel that they’re not alone.
Here in Israel, everyone is seen as valuable—from the tiniest babies to older children, to members of every generation within the community. Each person is part of something bigger; everyone is a part of the people, and everyone is precious. Communities here are dedicated to taking care of each other, whether through formal organizations, neighborhood support, or individual acts of kindness. This collective mindset helps us navigate these challenging times, knowing that we belong to a network that values every life and that will look out for its own.
Amidst these challenges, one of the most reassuring aspects of life here has been this deep sense of unity. Schools, neighbors, and local organizations go above and beyond to ensure that everyday life carries on as normally as possible. After-school activities, gatherings with friends, and playdates are upheld as much as possible, offering children a sense of continuity and community. This solidarity reminds me that we’re part of something greater, a network of people who care for and uplift one another in times of both peace and hardship.
Living here, I’ve come to understand resilience in a new way—one that doesn’t ignore the fear but finds strength within it, teaching children and adults alike that they are not alone and that they are capable of enduring and finding hope, even in the darkest times.
