We’re Not Okay Sometimes, And We’re Still Showing Up

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A Letter From Inside the Sirens

By Ellie Azerad

Hi friend,

As I type this, I’m sitting by my office window.

There’s a siren going off in the distance.

I hear the booms overhead, loud enough to shake our windows.

And just now, an alert popped up on my phone: We may have a siren in our area in the next few minutes.

❤️Want to Help Out Today?

The incredible women in my neighborhood started an organization called Eshet Chayal.

Since October 7th, they’ve been sending out weekly care packages to soldiers’ wives and children, bringing comfort, love, and a little bit of light into homes holding so much.

You can be part of this amazing initiative by donating here:

👉 [Eshet Chayal]

We’re Not Okay Sometimes, And We’re Still Showing Up

I had to think very, very hard before sending this.

Because as you all know, I love living here.

No, I love love love living here.

Even with everything going on, I still want to dance and sing on the rooftops.

And I do. Sometimes in empty fields, on quiet roads, soaking in the views that take my breath away.

I still reach out and touch the Jerusalem stone of my building and get chills.

I get to live here.

To raise my children here.

To daven here.

To walk these streets knowing that Mashiach could come at any moment, and I’ll be among the first to greet him.

I am home.

Home, home, home.

And I feel so deeply chosen to be here.

That’s why what you’re about to read is not a complaint.

It’s not loshon hara on this land. It’s love.

It’s the honest reality of what it feels like to keep going, to build a family, a mikdash me’at, and a life filled with meaning, even during times that stretch us in every way.

So I wrote this letter for the women living it, who’ve told me, “Please, I just want to feel seen.”

And for women around the world who want to understand what life in Eretz Yisroel feels like right now.

We’re Still In the Most Beautiful Place on Earth

I live in Eretz Yisroel.

And before anything else, I want to say this out loud:

We live in the most beautiful, holy, soul-filled land in the world.

This is Hashem’s land.

This is our home.

And there is nowhere else we want to be.

Even now.

Even with sirens.

Even with kids home and routines turned upside down.

Even with bags packed just in case.

There is no greater privilege than to raise our children on this soil.

To live where the Shechinah never left.

To cry here, and dance here.

To run to safety when needed, but to know that we’re running inside our land.

We are not victims of this country.

We are in love with it.

And still… we are human. And many of us are quietly carrying a lot.

“I Just Want to Feel Seen”

Over the past few days, women here have messaged me:

“I just want to feel seen.”

“Can someone please talk about what it’s really like here?”

“Everyone keeps saying we’re strong… but I feel like I can not anymore.”

So this is for you.

This isn’t a dramatization.

And it’s not an attempt to summarize every woman’s experience.

It’s just one perspective, written from my heart, surrounded by women I deeply respect, who are living this each day.

And I hope that maybe, just maybe, women around the world will see us a little differently.

Not just as headlines.

Not just as “the strong ones.”

But as real Jewish mothers, trying to live, love, and lead our families with faith and heart…in the place we still call home.

I’m Not Speaking for Everyone

I can’t capture what everyone is going through.

I wouldn’t dare try.

Some women are watching their husbands leave for miluim, again and again.

And all we can do is cry, and daven, and cry again, and hold them in our hearts.

Some are raising children alone, holding life together in ways that most of us can never understand- even a bit!

And again… all we can do is cry, and daven, cry some more,  and beg Hashem to bring Moshiach already and end this suffering!

Some are juggling interrupted routines, delayed simchos, emotional exhaustion, mental health issues, and complicated logistics, while still keeping their homes warm, their voices gentle, and their children feeling safe.

Everyone is carrying something different.

But no one is carrying it lightly.

There is no comparison.

No words that can ease what some women are holding.

We cannot take away their pain.

We can never repay their sacrifice.

But we can daven and we can show up with whatever we can give.

👉 Click here to donate to Eshet Chayal

What It’s Like In My Corner

I live in Eretz Yisroel, in a mostly chutznik neighborhood.

And while my experience doesn’t compare to what many others are facing, here’s a small glimpse of what life looks like right now:

It means sirens.

It means kids home.

It means running to the miklat mid-toothbrushing, mid-laundry, mid-life.

It means standing in front of the bathtub and wondering,

Should I bathe the baby now? Or wait?

Can I put the cake in the oven? Or will I need to leave it?

It’s not chaos. It’s not panic.

It’s just… the constant second-guessing that hums quietly in the background of everything.

The mental load is real.

Even when we’re doing okay, even when we’re smiling, it takes a toll.

Why I’m Writing This

Last week, I wrote a piece on In Between Carpools for women in chutz laaretz, the ones who reached out, feeling helpless and guilty.

They were going to work, planning simchos, packing for camp, and feeling like they didn’t deserve to be doing any of it.

So I wrote something to help them stay spiritually connected.

To remind them: You don’t have to stop your life, but you can live it with awareness, with tears, with action.

But after I posted it, I got a comment from a woman here in Eretz Yisroel.

She said: We’re the ones living this. Don’t forget about us. Speak to us, too.

And she was right.

So I am.

We Are Holding So Much

We’re holding our babies.

We’re holding our homes.

We’re holding back tears so our kids don’t see them.

We’re holding onto whatever bit of routine we can grab.

We’re still making Shabbos.

Still whispering Shema.

Still baking challah, still slicing cucumbers, still wiping spills, still managing noise and meals and moods and schedules.

And every one of those actions becomes a tefillah.

A quiet whisper to Hashem

:I’m still here.

I’m still trying.

Please come for us soon.

You Are Not Weak. You Are Just Human.

If you’re somewhere in Israel and you’re tired…If you’re managing more than anyone realizes…If you’ve whispered “I don’t know how much longer I can do this”…

Please know:

You are not weak.

You are not broken.

You are not failing.

You are a Jewish woman in Eretz Yisroel, showing up with heart and with hope. And that is everything.

May We Never Have to Be This Strong Again

I’m davening for a time when life feels soft again- when Mashiach comes!

When our routines return.

When we can exhale fully.

When we can send our kids to school and plan simchos and go about life in peace.

When Jewish women don’t have to hold quite so much.

But even now, even in this, please remember:

We live in the most beautiful place in the world.

This is Hashem’s land.

This is our home.

And there is nowhere else we want to be.

I’ve shared some of the heaviness here, but don’t mistake this for despair.

This is not loshon hara on Eretz Yisroel.

It’s what it looks like to choose this land again and again, even when it’s hard.

Even when it stretches us.

Even when we have to whisper Shema a little tighter.

And I have so many beautiful stories to share too.

Because we are strong.

We are grounded.

We are flexible and creative and full of emunah.

We are the daughters of Sarah, Rivka, Rachel, and Leah.

And we are showing up with open arms and quiet strength.

Until the day Mashiach comes,

we will keep whispering, keep hoping, keep building, and keep loving this land.

We may not feel okay every second.

But we’re still here.

And we’re still home.