Waking up in a foreign land, immediately rushing to my phone, looking up what happened last night, under the iron and the fire, while I was asleep, with nothing over my head but the stars and the cold breeze of the night. I read messages from my loved ones, some assuring me they’re OK, others telling me how scared they were, how hard it was to sleep under shaking walls and the buzzing of drones. “We grew up in this,” my parents used to say, speaking of their childhood years. “Chances are, you and your kids will go through it, too.”
So here we are, going through “it” again. Going through war.
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