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Once upon a time (after the late 1950s), Gaza was a tourist destination. People spent the day touring Khan Yunis, Deir al-Balah, Rafah, and Heletz. They would walk the streets of Gaza toward the beach, explore the boat factory, and dine in the Abuchatzera Restaurant. They would visit the ancient synagogue and see the mosaic of David HaMelech’s harp. Things have certainly changed since then.

The tragedy of the Hamas pogrom on Simchas Torah brought with it unfathomable pain and suffering. But it has also been a catalyst for so much good. Despite the shocking setback, people here are drawing upon their resilience and picking themselves up. They are choosing to take note of the constant miracles taking place around us. They are choosing to appreciate and see the positive in each other. They are opening themselves up to new experiences, new people, and new ideas. They are opening their hearts. They are choosing life.

In the weeks before the most recent Yom Tov, Reuven Lebetkin and Shirel Tayeb were in the final stages of planning the wedding of their dreams, scheduled for October 25. Their plans came to a screeching halt on October 7. As officers in the IDF reserves, both Reuven and Shirel were called up to serve. This created a dilemma regarding how to proceed with the wedding.

We are a nation of extremes. The horrific division between us that peaked on Yom Kippur has been replaced with a unity that has not been seen here for as long as I can remember. The pendulum has swung from one extreme – of sin’as chinam – all the way to the other side – of ahavas chinam. The constant stream of stories showing love, caring, and support for one another continues to branch out further into more acts of kindness. Who we are now radically differs from who we were just over two weeks ago. We are unrecognizable. But this is us. The real us. We are being kind not just to our own, but even more so, to the “other.”

Here we are - five weeks into this challenging period in which we find ourselves.  I’m back at work, in person, full schedule. After a stretch of limited productivity, I’ve returned to preparing meals and doing laundry. I even started up my exercise regimen once again.

A teacher needs students. A chef needs ingredients. A pilot needs a plane. And a writer needs words. I have a problem. I’m a writer. But I have no words. And when I do have words, they generally get stuck in my throat. I considered skipping my column this week, but I’m going to do my best to give you a picture of what life looks like in a war zone.