Travel Traumas

It's certainly not a shock that most Israelis suffer from PTSD (post trauma stress disorder). We have been living with national trauma for more than 22 months. Every day of the last 686 days has been filled with trauma, pain, worry, agony. It is prevalent in our soldiers, our mothers, our fathers, our children, our grandparents, our Holocaust survivors. In short, everyone.

More and more, Israelis are understanding that we need to speak, need to share, need to seek comfort, need to seek unity and joy. And we are. But what wasn't particularly obvious to us was that this trauma would follow us everywhere we go...no, not obvious to all but yes, obvious to me.

Years ago, I was in Bangalore for a conference. A bit concerned about being a woman alone in India (where signs said "she is your grandmother, don't abuse her" and "she is your daughter, don't violate her"), we agreed my husband would come to the conference and then we'd do some touring in what is a beautiful and fascinating land.

In the morning, as we dressed for the conference, there was an air raid siren. My mind panicked and I thought, "we didn't ask the front desk where the bomb shelters are." I pulled out my phone when I remembered. India, not Israel. No rockets from Gaza can reach here. The silence returned, we finished preparing, went down and I forgot about the siren.

That evening, again there were sirens and again, my heart stumbled. This time, determined to understand if we were missing something critical, we went down to the front desk. I explained that we heard the air raid siren and didn't understand what was happening. The clerk behind the desk smiled and said there was an army base nearby and they use the siren to announce breakfast and dinner are being served.

I stared at him, filled with outrage I could never speak. I wanted to shout at him, "that's not what air raid sirens are for, you idiot." But, of course, I didn't. He wasn't an idiot at all. He was sweet and helpful and unable to understand what I was feelings. We smiled, said something dumb like, "oh, that's nice" and left to share our trauma and outrage in the elevator.

Years later, I was sitting at a pre-conference meeting in Germany when my phone beeped. No, not the air raid siren sound going off in Israel, but a special ring tone I use that warns me of incoming rockets. I slipped my phone out of my bag and looked. Rockets from Gaza. And again, more rockets.

I sat there in the room, a council meeting of delegates from 16 countries and I was representing Israel - only I could hear nothing but the siren in my head; I could see nothing but people running to bomb shelters. More rockets and more. I put my phone on silent and left it on the table. People sitting next to me saw the red flashing warning.

During the next break, I called home. Over 150 rockets were fired at Israel. Israel was responding. A large portion of southern Israel was warned to stay in or near bomb shelters. I spoke to my friends, representatives of 15 other countries and to the organizers. 

Three hours later, and another 100 or more rockets, I told them I needed to go home. It meant canceling two presentations I was supposed to give - at the last minute, leaving a hole in their conference. Without hesitation, they told me to arrange whatever I needed to and they would pay for the changes. 

By the time we finished the meetings, 400 rockets had been fired. They made plans to go to dinner. I was sick at the thought of eating. With tears, I told them I had to go back to my room and to the organizers, I told them I would let them know. Within hours, before I could make final arrangements, Hamas was begging for a ceasefire and the world was begging Israel to show restraint.

A year later, at the same meeting, again they opened fire on Israel. 200 rockets. A month after October 7, again I had to travel and again my phone alerted me. It is the trauma of leaving behind loved ones, your country, your world.

And today, I spoke to my daughter who is traveling abroad. She said that someone in the airport's phone used the same tune that our phones use to indicate an early warning of a ballistic missile being fired at Israel. The only question we have is what country is firing at us this time (Yemen or Iran, Lebanon or Gaza), and how much time we have to get to shelter (from 15 seconds to 10 minutes).

Early this morning, in the hours before two young Israeli women awakened to a new day in the East, a car passed their window and played the sound of a siren. My daughter's friend worried; my daughter was exhausted and continued to sleep but the siren worked its way into her dreams and she thought there was an incoming missile and she had to check if she needed to run to the bomb shelter.

Travel traumas or traumas that travel with us - either way, they are crippling in the moments that they happen and devastating long after. I wanted my daughter to enjoy her time away. I suggested she close the app that warns her of incoming rocket attacks here in Israel.

"Yes," she said, "I should do that...though I probably won't."

She probably won't; I never do. We are a nation united. United in joy, united in pain, united in trauma.