Israelis are no strangers to living with uncertainty. But there is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from repeatedly preparing for futures that never arrive.

I don’t think it is the fear that is exhausting us. I think it is the constant pivoting.

For weeks now, most Israelis have been living two lives at once. On the surface, life continues. Children go to school. Parents go to work. Weddings take place. People stand in line at the supermarket, complain about traffic, and try to make summer plans. Outside the north, much of life has looked remarkably normal.

And yet every normal moment has been accompanied by an asterisk. Every plan has had a silent “unless.” Every routine has existed against the backdrop of not knowing what tomorrow might bring.

A deal is coming. No, an attack is coming. No, a deal is coming. No, rockets are coming.

Last Sunday, we were told to prepare. Schools were cancelled. Parents scrambled. Some children worried and cried. Others celebrated. On Monday, there was a one-day war. Then it was announced that there would also be no school on Tuesday. Then yes school. At a certain point, it becomes difficult to know what is reality and what is possibility.

Yesterday, I had a video call with a couple in America. Before we began, I mentioned casually that I might have to leave in the middle because it seemed possible that an attack was imminent.

In truth, there is nothing casual about impending missiles.

The meeting ended. I checked the news. Reports suggested that the United States was pressuring Iran not to attack. I went to sleep expecting a siren. I woke up and read that there was a........

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