I wish I could say I was excited to go back, and that our return home was smooth. But I wasn’t, and it wasn’t
As told to Mindel Kassorla by Keren Elkobi
It’s surreal. We’re finally back home. And yes, Sderot is home… even if we can hear gunshots and explosions from Gaza.
People wonder why we planted our family (I’m from Baltimore; my husband was raised in Be’er Sheva) in what seems to them like a war zone. I’m not saying we never questioned our decision; of course we’ve thought about moving. But at the end of the day, Sderot is where my husband was learning and we love the community. A whole bunch of young couples — the moms hang out in the park, the kids are all friends, like one big family — that’s what keeps us rooted here.
Over the seven years we’ve been living here, we’ve definitely had our share of… scares. “Mini” wars, some tension, waves of rockets. When the siren goes off, we have ten to 15 seconds to find shelter. We usually hear the Iron Dome interception within three to five seconds, and our house shakes from the blast. Heavy periods of rockets left us virtually chained indoors, and when that happened, we’d usually leave Sderot for a few days till things settled.
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