Some feelings, some reflections – by Hani Lev-Or
That moment, when night falls and it’s time to get ready for bed. The most natural, routine thing, right? Turn off the TV, switch off the lights, brush your teeth, take the dog out for one last walk. Then everything gets quiet, and you slip into bed.
But these past few nights — nothing about it feels natural or routine.
Because something else has crept in: fear.
The fear and anxiety of going to sleep.
The fear of that one alarming alert on the phone that jolts you out of bed.
The fear, when there’s no shelter — where do you even hide?
No wall or room feels safe.
There’s no accessible shelter to run to.
The walls shake from interceptions, the shutters start to rattle, the sirens are terrifying.
My dog gets scared and clings to me, and I try to calm her — but I’m not calm myself.
It’s all that — and more.
So when evening comes and the night sets in, a time that used to mean peace and quiet, suddenly every little sound makes me jump.
A motorcycle passing by, a message tone on the phone, even a random WhatsApp or SMS.
Everything feels too much. Too intense.
And the question I keep asking myself:
Will I ever go back to who I was?
Someone who wasn’t afraid of anything.
I used to go out late at night, take the last bus home at 1 a.m. — completely unafraid.
My loyal guide dog by my side.
I still remember when I got my first dog and I told my trainer,
“Wow, I can’t believe it… I’m out at night and I can’t even see in the dark.”
I was so independent.
It was so good.
Will I ever get that back?
I’m not sure anymore.
And now, being so dependent on cars when there’s no public transportation.
Every errand requires a hundred calculations — is it safe to go out now? What if something happens while I’m outside?
I just want it all to be over already.
I want to stop being afraid to go to sleep.
I want night to be night again — not day.
And day to be day — not a continuation of the night.
My strength is running out.
How much longer can we hold on like this?
Just sitting, listening to interceptions, hugging the dog, and praying it will pass safely.
That buildings won’t collapse like dominoes.
That people won’t fall from the sky — or from the buildings.
I want to go back to living.
To sit in cafés.
To get back to reading books the way I used to — I was such a bookworm, but now I have no energy or focus for anything.
To go sit by the sea.
To go on long walks with my dog, just because.
To run errands.
Go to the mall.
Take long trips.
Go back to guiding and giving talks.
In short:
I want to return to being.
To smiling.
To simply living — without constantly wondering where the next rocket will fall, or when the next siren will send me crouching on the couch, praying that no interceptor or missile will land on me.
Hani Lev-Or is a social worker living in Israel who is blind and shares her life with disability in a genuine and heartfelt way.
Hani with her dog in better, more peaceful days