Rocking Motherhood in Israel with Rocket Sirens

It’s 4 a.m. and I’m sleeping on a foam mattress in our bomb shelter. The reinforced room of our home has now become part bedroom, part panic room, part makeshift office. The kids are asleep beside me, the glow from Jamari’s phone tells me he’s awake too. The last siren was 30 mins ago, and for now, the sky outside is quiet.

This is motherhood in Israel right now.

War isn’t new here. The words “tensions rising” appear in headlines so often they feel like background noise. But nothing prepares you for raising children in the middle of active conflict. For what it’s like to explain to your 7-year-old that yes, those loud booms were real, and no, we’re not leaving. Because we can’t.

The airport is closed. The airspace is locked. Border crossings are a gamble at best. And while the world outside may see this as just another regional flare-up, we’re living every hour with our shoes by the door, emergency bags ready, and an eye always on the nearest shelter.

The Routine That Isn’t Routine

We are still living life; doing our daily routine, making meals, riding scooters I’m still telling the kids to clean their rooms, though their rooms are increasingly just corners of the bomb shelter scattered with Legos, blankets, and snacks. We’re trying to maintain a sense of normalcy even though the new normal involves sheltering in place, waiting for the next siren, and sleeping on the floor (with clothes prepped to leave the house instantly).

Our children are more resilient than we ever imagined. They ask big questions. They make jokes about the sirens. They get quiet when it gets too loud. We don’t shield them from the truth, but we cushion it in love, routine, and reassurance.

We’re Not Here by Choice—We’re Here for a Mission

Jamari and I are both continuing to do our jobs, even in these circumstances. His role involves the safety and security of our mission. Mine involves keeping our community informed, connected, and supported. Neither of us clock out when the sirens start. If anything, we lean in harder.

We’re not here because we asked to be. We’re here on behalf of the United States of America, serving in official roles that carry responsibility no matter the conditions. That means making decisions under pressure, offering comfort to others while managing our own stress, and finding ways to keep moving forward when everything around us feels uncertain.

We are constantly trying to find balance. Between duty and parenthood. Between alertness and peace. Between wanting to flee and needing to stay. Some days that balance is impossible. Other days, we find moments of calm in the chaos and hop in our inflatable hot tub to destress .

I’m Not Political. I’m a Mom Living This

Let me be clear. It doesn’t matter what side of the politics you’re on. I’m not here to argue policy or debate headlines. That’s not me. If you know me, you know I’m not big on politics. I’m a mom trying to keep my kids safe, calm, and comforted in a time that’s anything but.

You may see this conflict on the news or in your feed as something far away or deeply political. But I’m here. Physically here. Living it. Hearing the sirens. Calming scared children. Trying to keep their world feeling whole when the outside world feels like it’s splitting in two.

Motherhood as a Steadying Force

Being a mom right now means being a compass. Pointing toward calm when everything else spins wildly. It’s showing your kids how to bake banana bread during lockdowns. How to fold laundry between sirens. Coming up with things the kids can “control” like decorating the shelter space. Giving a lot of reassuring cuddles, when I have absolutely no idea what is happening.

There are moments I want to scream. Moments I do. There are nights I don’t sleep at all, scrolling news and texting with family overseas, fielding their “Are you leaving?” questions with the same answer. We can’t. Not yet.

But there are also moments of profound beauty. When my child laughs uncontrollably at something silly. When neighbors check in. When community members text me first and say, “we appreciate you as a CLO”. The humanity here doesn’t disappear in times like these. It glows even brighter.

Holding It All

I’m holding it all. The fear. The logistics. The weight of pretending things are fine. And I know I’m not alone. There are thousands of mothers across this region doing the exact same thing. Trying to be soft places in a hard world.

So if you’re reading this and wondering how we’re doing. We’re here. We’re holding steady. We’re tired. Alert. Grateful. Emotionally maxed out. We’re having hot tub parties on the patio between alerts. Sometimes I cry into our coffee (because that’s ok!). But we wake up each day and do it again.

Because that’s what moms do. Even when the world outside is shaking.