“Things I’ve Learned from the War – About Myself, About the World. Things That Have Changed in Me.”

By Leah Waldman Gelband

Once the nameless one’s neighbor, Leah Waldman Gelband gives a beautifully vulnerable witness testament to her lived experience with war in Israel. Through writing, Waldman Gelband beckons the world to see not only the events, but the impact of those events on the hearts and minds of Israelis. Her authenticity is humbling and profound:

“I’m writing first and foremost for myself — to make the effort to put into words the fragments of feelings, thoughts, and emotions that rise up in me. The effort to write them down is my effort to sharpen my thinking and explain them to myself in a way that maybe others can also connect to.

1. We are a network.

We’re all connected. Simply connected. It feels like each person is an individual, but it’s not really like that. When I go out, for example on Shabbat, and meet my friends from my community (the Keshet HaMalkah community!), I feel how we’re wired to one another — intellectually, emotionally, spiritually. When I connect to this network, I’m truly not alone. If I learned one thing from the war — it’s simply to be together. Togetherness has power!! It works when things are hard and when they’re joyful. Loneliness is real — and if people reading this don’t have their own “together,” I think it’s worth making an effort to find it.

2. The world isn’t “The World According to Leah.”

One of the hardest slaps in the face I got was realizing that I truly lived with the belief of “Think good — and it will be good.” If I ignore the forces of evil around me, then maybe they don’t really exist, and even if they do — surely they’re fading away. I remember a conversation with my brother before October 7th, when he quoted Major General (res.) Yitzhak Brik and said he was going to get a gun license. I didn’t want to hear it. I’m in a different place now.

3. Don’t take responsibility for other people — or for other nations.

Each person must take responsibility for themselves. This, I think, really sums up my shift from how I was raised to how I see the world now.

I grew up in 1990s Jerusalem, in a liberal religious-Zionist school (Pelech), where the ethos of a welfare state and helping the weak was very strong. That was different from my home, which leaned more right-wing libertarian. But back then, the differences didn’t feel so big — a bit more welfare state, a bit less — either way, we were part of the liberal ethos.

Today, as the rug has been pulled out from under the term “liberal,” and destructive forces have begun to eat away at it, I feel the need to redefine what it means to be liberal today. To me, it means taking full responsibility for ourselves, looking with open eyes at our surroundings, helping and giving when possible — but not taking responsibility for others. A person or a nation changes only when they want to, not when we want them to.

4. Boundaries.

There’s a quote I love by writer Elaine M. Ward:

‘The rules of parenting are but three: love, limit, let them be.’

You have to love your child, or the other person, and let them be who they are — but you also need boundaries. A child won’t grow well without boundaries. And if we don’t set our own boundaries — where others may touch us and where they may not — we can’t exist. This idea, simple in parenting, applies to all relationships. The combination of boundaries (even firm ones) with love and freedom for others to be themselves — is a winning formula. When we don’t set boundaries, we don’t respect ourselves, and worse — we don’t truly believe in our right to exist.

5. I am Jewish. Proudly. I am Israeli. Proudly. And today, I’m also proud (a little) to be American.

Last winter I went north with my mother and daughter and met secular business owners. I felt a surge of Zionist pride meeting them, but they were looking for a ticket out. It wasn’t just because of the war — it was also because of the political situation and the growing religious influence.

But I suddenly understood: If a person doesn’t dig deep into their Jewish roots, they can’t really live here long-term. An ‘Israeli narrative’ alone isn’t deep enough to keep us here when the winds blow strong.

The age-old question — what does it mean to be Jewish? what is our contribution to the world as a people? — is fascinating to me. I want us to keep asking it and to live through it. Being Jewish doesn’t necessarily mean being religious — it means engaging with and discussing our Jewish identity. Like Jacob wrestling with the angel all night. There’s a great English word for this — grapple.

6. Life isn’t a house, a dog, and a white picket fence.

I grew up in the 1990s — daughter of parents who grew up in 1960s America — and we thought the great wars were behind us. That real hardship only existed in books and movies. But it’s not true!

My perspective on ‘what life is’ has expanded. Now I understand that there are things truly worth fighting for. That there is real pain and injustice in the world. And yet — this is part of the human experience. Our task is to minimize their effects and build a better world. But there is real struggle in life. Once we accept that, we won’t always be in shock, outrage, or helplessness toward ‘the world.’

7. Divine Assistance (Siyata D’Shmaya).

Before the war, I read Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’s commentary on the beginning of Leviticus. The book starts with the word ‘Vayikra’ (‘And He called’), where the letter aleph [א] is written smaller than usual. So it can also be read as ‘Vayikar’ (‘and it happened by chance’).

Rabbi Sacks says the small aleph teaches that we can see the world in two ways:

• As Mikra — a story, a path, with God and meaning.

• Or as Keri — coincidence, randomness.

If we see the world as random chance, life will be very hard. God teaches us not to see the world as random, because a random world is a very hard world to live in. No matter one’s belief, it’s better not to see things as pure accident. We were born into a specific life, and I want to believe it’s not random.

8. Returning to myself.

This post has sat on my computer for weeks — unsent, unedited. Now, as we’re still in the late stages of the war, and who knows what’s next, I find myself thinking: it’s time to focus back on myself.

To ask: How am I? What needs healing, work, adjustment?

I’m returning to take care of myself — things I personally need (acupuncture for menopause symptoms, physical therapy for hip pain — if you’re wondering). And also — where is my growth now? What’s my next step?

In war, our resources go outward — to the collective. Now there’s some room to turn inward — to focus again on the individual within us. Back to our own personal “wars.” For me, anyway, it’s a big effort.

Good luck to all of us.

(Photo credit: my talented mother.)”