- Michael Balaban
Jewish Federation of Greater Philadelphia President and CEO
As I write this, another siren has just sounded.
Across Israel, life is measured in these moments: alerts, a rush to shelter, the quiet wait, and then a return to what was left behind. Since midnight, this cycle has repeated again and again in the center of the country and around Jerusalem. In the north, the reality is even more acute, with families often having only seconds to react.
We remain in close contact with Tali Lidar, director of Israel and global operations; Tamar Brody, Israel programs representative; Shaini Shulman, P2G project manager; and Lior Shalvi, operations coordinator, our team on the ground. What they describe goes far beyond strategy or headlines. It is the emotional weight of living this way for individuals, families and especially for children.
A mother in Jerusalem shared that she now sleeps in her clothes, with shoes by the door, so she can carry her children to the shelter without fully waking them. A father in the north keeps a backpack by the bed with snacks and a flashlight, trying to make the dash to safety feel like a game instead of something frightening. One family, evacuated from their damaged home, is living in a hotel room where three generations now share a single space, grateful to be safe, but aching for normalcy.
There are also longer-term effects. Teachers report students who struggle to concentrate, who withdraw, who carry anxiety far bigger than their years. These are not momentary fears. Mental health professionals warn that repeated exposure to trauma, including sirens, explosions and displacement, can leave lasting scars, shaping how children experience safety, trust and the future long after the alerts stop.
Missile fire continues, and attacks have intensified, spreading across wider areas and drawing more communities into this relentless rhythm. In just 10 days, more than 11,000 alerts have sounded nationwide. Fifteen people have been killed. Nearly 3,900 have been injured. Thousands are displaced, living out of suitcases, far from the stability children need most.
Daily life is strained. Schools are remote or closed. Parents juggle work while soothing frightened children. Businesses hesitate to reopen. With Passover approaching, the disruption will continue. What began as determination is, for many, giving way to deep fatigue.
And yet, alongside the fear, there is something else.
Parents sit with their children in shelters, telling stories and singing softly through the sirens. Neighbors check in on one another. Families share meals, toys and quiet moments of comfort in crowded spaces. Communities, many of which have faced repeated upheaval, are still choosing care over despair.
This is a deeply painful moment, and its effects will not end quickly. But it is also a testament to resilience, steady, human and enduring. The kind that insists on protecting children not only physically, but emotionally. The kind that believes healing is possible, even when the road is long.
We remain close to our colleagues and partners on the ground, committed to standing with them in the days ahead, with care, compassion and solidarity.
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