I took the above photo when I was in Jerusalem a month ago, helping my brother recover from a serious heart attack. The cafe is very close to his home, a wonderful way to start the morning.

This was not how things looked today.

“Where are you?” I ask my brother.

“I’m lying on the road.”

“You’re not at home? You’re not in a shelter?”

“I was returning to Jerusalem from seeing the kids and the missile attack started, so they stopped all the cars. I left the car and stretched out on the ground, that’s what you’re supposed to do in these situations. Right now, I’m looking up and seeing more missiles than I’ve ever seen flying over me on their way to Jerusalem. Here, listen.”

I listen and hear loud whooshes through the phone. “They sound so close,”

“They are close,” he says.

“When can you get moving?”

“When they issue an all-clear. They haven’t yet.”

Next call is to my sister. “Are you at least in a shelter?”

“No, I’m downstairs with Phoebe [the dog]. I can’t take her with me into the shelter because she gets too anxious and aggressive in a crowded space, so I’m downstairs in the lobby, far from windows. The rest of the family is in shelters. Phoebe is getting more and more agitated.”

Then she adds, “But we have the privilege of air defense systems [both American and Israeli] and we have a warning system that told us even ahead of the sirens about the attack. Once the sirens sound, we have 90 seconds to get into a safe zone. The others don’t have any of that.”

By the others she means people in Gaza and now, Lebanon.

“Listen, honey, I can’t talk right now,” she adds, and we agree to talk during the holiday.

I think of 9/11, and that, since 1812, it was the only time this country got hit by war on its own soil. It affected very specific spots in New York and Washington DC, and we have little idea of what it is to lie on the ground and watch waves of missiles flying over us, targeted at various cities, including our own home, with lots of time to wonder whether our parents are safe, our children, our family.

And if you’re Ruth, my very special sister, you also think of how this is for the others.

I’m remembering sitting next to a lawyer on a plane years ago who joined the army and couldn’t wait to go into Iraq—and this was after we already knew that there was no evidence of nuclear weapons there. Why the hurry, I asked him. It’s not your country, not your culture, not your soil. What are you in a hurry to do, fight to bring democracy to a country you know nothing about?

Aussie and I returned home on Sunday to a Western Massachusetts carpeted by multi-color leaves and twigs. There are serious caregiving challenges facing us here, which I won’t detail, only to say that it’s taking center stage inside and out.

I am clear that right now, I can’t do much for a Middle East hellbent on so much destruction, but there is work to do here. Not physical work (some of that, too), but the work of seeing a bad situation clearly, bearing witness, and taking the right action. Wisdom and compassion, we call it in Buddhism.

Everything is here: anger, sadness, love, caring. A heady mixture. This is where the work lies, I tell myself. They’re not kidding when they say that peacemaking work begins at home.

I’m fortunate to have good friends and students who offer advice and lots of help. A healing tea mixture ground from herbs from someone’s garden, offers of meals and dog walks.

“Where are you for the Jewish New Year?” I ask my brother after he comes home.

“I don’t know. I have options, but these are going to be holidays like never before. And don’t forget, next Monday is October 7.”

I don’t forget.