I came home from Israel just a week before this war began. I am watching, and reading, the news of missile strikes and bombings from the safe shelter of my suburban home. I spent much of today baking cookies and bread with my granddaughter, enjoying her company and letting the process of combining sugar, flour, and eggs take primary place in my thoughts.

But I know that the people of Israel, and people that I know and care about who live there, are listening for sirens. I know that they are spending much of their time in shelters. I know that they’re aware of those missiles that have gotten through, that have taken lives and created significant destruction.

A week ago, I would have been one of those people in shelter. I would have been one who was listening for the sound of sirens and explosions. I would have been one of those people wondering if I would be able to get a flight and go home.

I have been to Israel twice since October 7, 2023. On the first trip, we could hear the sound of heavy guns in the distance. We toured the sites of terrorism and kidnapping and death. We grieved and we ached and we tucked those images into places where they will never be forgotten. Last week, we toured a nursing home in Haifa and enjoyed a conference in beautiful Eilat. Some folks told us that we needed to be alert for sirens and that, if we heard them, to not worry about shelters but to run for the stairwells.

Yet, with all of that, I never felt afraid. I never felt at risk, even in a country that is clearly so vulnerable. I believed that I was in a safe place despite knowing, in my rational mind, that this is a country that is constantly fighting for its life.

I have wondered over the course of the past few days how I would have fared had I been in Israel now. I would describe myself as a person of emotional courage but not so much as someone with physical courage. Yet I don’t see myself falling apart were these my circumstances. My concerns would be, I know, for my family, and the worries that they would share. I think of the anxieties they had during COVID, when disease and death were all around us and I was going to work every day in a healthcare setting. Our grandson, at the time 6 years old, would get on the phone with me and say plaintively, “Be careful, Noni (the name the kids call me). Be careful.” The circumstances are radically different but the fear, I think, would be the same.

I am grateful to be home and safe. And yet a part of me feels a bit of guilt. That while my heart is with the people of Israel and my commitment to our homeland, I am not there to experience or help or support. I hold the people of Israel, and all the innocent souls who are at risk during this difficult time, in my thoughts, in my prayers and in my full heart.