Why the return to normal might not feel normal

I want to take a moment to name something that’s been sitting with me, and maybe with you too.

Right now, it feels like we’re being asked to make a jarring shift — from 12 days of high alert, of war, of real threat — into normal life again. The idea that schools open tomorrow, that we’re expected to return to errands, routines, productivity… it’s a lot. And it’s fast. And it’s not how our systems work.

Because here’s the thing: it takes our systems a while to transition from danger to safety. We’re built that way.

Over the last 12 days, we’ve been in survival mode — because we had to be. We had to be vigilant, maybe even hyper-vigilant, in order to take care of ourselves and those around us. There was a real, ongoing risk. And even though many of the moments in those days were technically fine, we were still holding a background sense of threat to our very existence. When we’re in survival mode like that, it’s all-encompassing. It takes over everything.

Now, with a ceasefire in place, our bodies haven’t necessarily caught up. Our nervous systems don’t instantly shift from danger to safety — and they shouldn’t be expected to. This adjustment will look different for each of us. We all carry different histories, different levels of resilience, and different internal capacities. And let’s be honest — we’re not starting from a blank slate. We’re living in bodies shaped by our own personal life experiences, yes — but also by the thousands of years of trauma we carry as Jews. These systems are old. They’re layered. And they’re wise.

So when someone says, “Back to normal,” and your system says, “I can’t,” that makes perfect sense.

On one hand, we do long to return. We want to live. We want to get back to the life we’ve built, the jobs and homes we’ve chosen. There’s a deep comfort in that.

But our inner world might not be ready. And we can’t downplay what we’ve just lived through. This experience has changed us. Not just spiritually — though that’s a part of it — but physiologically. Our nervous systems have felt war now. It’s different to know about sirens than to live through them.

I had been living in Israel for over 18 years before I ever experienced a real siren. I’d seen videos of people in Sderot running to their shelters in 15 seconds. I’d heard about it. But I had never felt it in my body — until the north was bombed. And once I did, something changed.

So for so many of us — especially Anglos living in Israel — yes, we lived through October 7th, and the horror of that time. But many of us weren’t directly impacted day-to-day. Now, with these last 12 days, that changed. For the first time, we felt it — the war affecting our daily lives, our bodies, our breath. And that changes you.

We have a choice now. We can pretend everything is fine, and push ourselves straight back into routine. Or, we can pause — even just for a moment — and say: I went through something. My system went through something. And I need to give it space to return to what it needs.

That path isn’t always pretty. When the acute danger passes, sometimes what rises is the deeper, older stuff. War has a way of unearthing things — our own trauma, our family’s trauma, our people’s trauma. And now that we’re not bracing for the next siren, our systems might feel safe enough to let those things come forward. That might look like anger, depression, anxiety. It might not look “regulated.” But that doesn’t mean something’s wrong. It means your body finally has room to feel.

Of course, there are regulation tools we can practice. But in my experience, if we’re not able to be with our dysregulation — to say, “This is what my system needs right now, and I can meet it with compassion” — we won’t really integrate what we’ve been through. The body doesn’t need to be controlled or silenced. It needs to be listened to.

That includes the part of you that might not be ready to let go of the protection.

That vigilance helped you feel some sense of control when everything felt out of control. Choosing where your kids slept, keeping your phone close, not wanting to shower or drive too far — those weren’t just habits. They were ways your nervous system tried to meet your need for safety.

And just because the danger is over doesn’t mean your system is ready to stop doing what it was doing to survive. That’s not a sign that something’s wrong. That’s your body still doing what it was built to do — until it learns it doesn’t need to anymore.

So if you’re still checking. Still jumping. Still feeling hesitant to send your kids out — that’s okay. Let your nervous system take its time. Let it do what it needs. Trust that by honoring the need underneath the behavior, you’re creating the very conditions for healing.

Say to yourself: My system is still adapting, and that makes sense. This is what I need right now. I can meet myself here.

And then there’s this other layer — the strange comfort in the slower, quieter pace of war life. Like during lockdown, there’s something about being in a crisis that gives us clarity. We hold our people closer. We let go of what matters less. We see what’s real.

That slower pace — for some of us — met a deep, long-standing need that maybe we didn’t even realize we had. The need to pause. To feel. To simplify.

This war, short as it was, gave us a chance to touch that. And now that we’re coming out of it, we get to ask: What do I want to carry forward? What need was met during this time that I want to continue honoring?

And here’s something else I’ve been thinking about:

During times of crisis, there’s often a certain kind of inspiration that comes from above. A clarity. A strength. A knowing of what matters. It’s almost handed to us. We don’t have to search for it — it’s just there. Many of us felt that in these 12 days. That sense of this is what’s important. This is who I want to be. This is what I want to hold on to.

But once things settle — once we go back to life — that inspiration tends to fade. And that’s not a sign that we’re doing something wrong. That’s actually how it works. We’re not meant to live in a constant state of spiritual intensity. The inspiration from above was a gift for that moment.

Now, though, comes the work of building it from below. Of asking: What does my soul need now? What does my nervous system need now? How can I stay connected to what felt true, even without the external pressure of crisis?

It doesn’t have to be big. One small goal. One gentle action. One shift that helps you continue meeting that need you discovered — for presence, for quiet, for depth.

And finally — if you’re feeling out of sync with others, I just want to say: you’re not alone.

Some people are going to jump straight back into normal. That might feel disorienting. Some might even expect you to do the same. But everyone has their own way of coping. Their own needs, their own nervous system responses. For some, jumping back in gives them the sense of normalcy they need. For others, slowing down is the only way they can breathe.

You don’t need to match anyone else’s pace. You just need to listen to what your system needs. And give yourself full permission to honor that.

And when it comes to those closest to us — our children, our spouses, our friends — we may not all be in the same place. Maybe you’re still vigilant and they’re carefree. Or the opposite. The most compassionate thing we can do is to recognize: Each person’s system is doing what it needs to do. And to make space for that.

There’s room for all of it.
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With warmth,
Rena