It is a sunny and peaceful day in October with beams of sunlight filtering in through the windows and a soft breeze that has the trees swaying gently. I grab Ruby's leash and the bag dispenser for our walk, stepping out into a warmth that feels more like midsummer. As we stroll through the park, Ruby reunites with her pals—Charlie, Neo, Lucy, and Jackson. Ears flapping and tails thrashing, they frolic with boundless energy as if they might snap from the sheer joy. I converse with the other pet owners as we usually do, yet there's a hint of sadness hanging in the air. At the corner of my eye, I spot Eva, one of my neighbors. Her usual bright demeanor is overshadowed by a countenance of concern as she walks towards us. Her son, Yatz, after finishing high school, departed for Israel to serve in the military. He was a constant presence in our lives but now his absence lingers like a shadow. We take a moment to warmly greet her,  patting her back with heartfelt empathy. 

"Is Yatz okay?" I trepidly inquire.

Her eyes betray a storm of sorrow as she hands me her phone and gestures for me to press play.

“Hi Mom, our troops just entered Gaza. I’m doing alright but the situation’s tough. You can probably tell I'm a bit of a mess right now—I haven't had a shower or proper bathroom facilities in a while, and I've been sleeping on the floor for the last few nights. How's everything with you and dad? I'm missing home a lot and hope to return soon. Our conversations have to be brief, but I'm sending all my love and best wishes.”

Sobbing, Eva collapses into my embrace as the glitchy recording stutters to an end. I stand there, trying to process what I just saw. Yatz, in his uniform, is almost unrecognizable—his face, etched with the trials of service and  obscured by an untended beard– speaking volumes through weary eyes. The bright-eyed excitement that once lit his face when he spoke of his heritage has dimmed, making my heart sink. 

Just last week, over tea at my house, Eva had been recounting with pride how Yatz had been partaking in the joyful celebration of Sukkot at the Kibbutzim. She described him blending in with families as they commemorated the harvest festival. Her eyes had lit up as she spoke of the air buzzing with laughter and a sense of community, much like the celebrations back in my community in Canada.  But peace was shattered on the morning of October 7th, 2023. The Kibbutzim were abruptly woken by the roar of bombs. Chaos ensued as people screamed and scrambled for shelter. Yatz and his fellow comrades ushered everyone to safety, locking down the bomb shelters. Although all the families survived, their livestock did not. 

After I left the park, a dense cloud of sadness shrouded my emotions. Restlessness has been my companion in the days since, as new and unnerving thoughts occupy my mind. Having grown up in the sanctuary of Canada, war was unfathomable and distant. Yet, war is now a spector, a constant reminder of the chilling presence. On the way home, each step felt heavy. I held my dog a bit closer, looking forward to the moment I could jump into my parents' arms, a cocoon of solace. It strikes me profoundly how we all yearn for the day when families can reunite without the shadows of separation. A day when humanity can unite in the warm embrace of a world at peace. In this hope, we wait.