ENOUGH!
The Collective Scar of Normalized Fear
March 25, 2025: Assessing the Situation
It was one of those long, heavy phone conversations. But this time, her “survival mode” was visibly on. The U.S. military was heavily present across the Middle East. “Americans never position themselves this close without striking,” she said. “And then a hit on Israel follows.”
We were discussing how the Iranian regime —along with a significant part of the Arab world—has historically viewed Israel’s existence as an imposed geopolitical reality. A state perceived as a primary strategic obstacle to regional ambitions and ideological influence. A nation that, since its founding, had little choice but to become the most reliable ally of the United States in the most unstable region of the world.
A nation trapped in history, caught between geopolitical games, hostile neighbors, and foreign powers. Much as my own nation, Greece, has often been.
“Do you know what is truly different this time?” she asked. “This time, the attack might involve nuclear weapons, not conventional ones. And the worst part? I actually dare to call the previous attacks ‘normal’.” We laughed.
It is interesting how black humor surfaces in the darkest moments. When I told her that although we don’t live under constant terrorism, we Greeks have grown up with a normalized fear of war in our region for as long as I can remember, we laughed again at the absurd elasticity of what human beings define as “normal.”
While discussing the complex equations of the Middle East, I mentioned the Gulf War. In 1991, Saddam Hussein fired 39 Scud missiles at Israel. No Iron Dome. No certainty. President George H. W. Bush pressured Israel not to retaliate — not out of sympathy, but out of coalition arithmetic. An Israeli response would fracture the Arab coalition aligned against Iraq. Saddam’s move was strategic; had Israel responded, a campaign to liberate Kuwait might have mutated into a broader Arab–Israeli confrontation.
The eventual weakening of Iraq led to the expansion of Iran and the creation of the “Shiite Arc” or “Axis of Resistance.” Its mission: to oppose the U.S. and Israel, while promoting Iranian influence. Despite the theological differences between Shiites and Sunnis, the Iranian leadership gained popularity as a perceived defender of Islam.
In 1991, Israelis feared Iraqi chemical weapons.
In 2026, they feared Iranian nuclear capability.
History does not disappear. It mutates.
She recalled images from her teenage years: Gas masks. Atropine injections carried everywhere in case of chemical exposure. Sirens. Suits that looked like monsters. Saddam’s missiles were not just military strikes; they were psychological warfare.
Tears formed in my eyes. During that same period, as a Greek teenager, I was living through the safest phase of my life. The Cold War had ended. We were dreaming of a peaceful, prosperous, and united Europe. Technology was advancing; the first personal computers were entering our homes. The Gulf War felt distant—a desert conflict over oil and influence.
How conflicting! I was dreaming of a bright future; she was dreaming of survival.
She recounted moments that are a collective scar—driving on a highway and seeing masked men aiming assault rifles at her family. Being pregnant, her instincts took over. She slammed the brakes and screamed “Down!” They were lucky enough to survive.
“This is terrorism,” she said. “You are having coffee with a friend. Someone suddenly shouts ‘Allahu Akbar’ and opens fire. Your peaceful moment turns into a survival story. For years, I have raised my children not knowing if they will return from school. Every time might be the last time.”
“Enough! Enough! Enough!” she cried. And I cried with her—for the accumulated trauma. For the years of hyper-vigilance. Even in my quiet Greek garden, over a thousand kilometers away, the air felt heavy.
February 27, 2026: Waiting for the Official Announcements
The Geneva summit had ended. Official statements claimed negotiations would resume in one week. I resisted the urge to send her a dark joke about “peace for one more week.” My instinct was uneasy. President Trump had publicly stated that if negotiations failed, military action would follow.
February 28, 2026: It Has Just Started
I woke up to a message from her: “It has just started.” Nothing more.
U.S. and Israeli forces launched coordinated strikes against Iranian strategic targets, arguing that negotiations had become a delaying tactic that only increased future risk. I finally reached her around 1 p.m. She was in a shelter with her children, sounding calm, even optimistic. Rumors said the leader of Iran was dead. Celebration mixed with uncertainty.
I warned her not to feel safe yet. Retaliatory bombing was expected. We looked at each other silently through the screen. Then, the sirens of Tel Aviv began.
“Go inside!” I told her. “I just want to finish one whole cigarette,” she replied. “Inside. Please. A few puffs are enough for now.”
Later that day, Iranian authorities officially confirmed the death of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei. Forty days of national mourning were declared. Reactions were not uniform. Relief and celebration were captured in videos online. But relief coexisted with deep uncertainty; the removal of a long-standing leader destabilizes a system built over decades. The greatest danger in such moments is internal collapse or a civil war that could be even more devastating than the previous authority.
March 2, 2026: Underground
The situation is at its peak. Around 21:00 local time, Iran launched its 11th missile barrage. The U.S. Air Force is expected to target the launchers.
Earlier, she was telling me about Purim—the holiday celebrating survival from an ancient Persian threat. Today, Jews honor Queen Esther for saving her people from a genocide planned by Haman, the Prime Minister. In the end, Haman was hanged on the very gallows he had prepared for the Jews.
Thousands of years later, she is back in a shelter, waiting for the sirens to stop, while the news of a Persian leader’s death echoes through the walls. History doesn’t just repeat itself. It screams.
I sent her a message summarizing the news. London, Paris and Berlin spoke with one voice and declared “revulsion” at Iran’s “indiscriminate and disproportionate” attacks on Gulf countries and European bases. Meanwhile, Moscow and Beijing answered with another voice condemning the U.S. and Israeli strikes. The shelter in Tel Aviv was no longer a local refuge. It had become a geopolitical crossroad.
I fall asleep with my intuition telling me that although Trump declared an operation of up to four weeks, it will not last more than four days.
March 3, 2026: Be happy until you cannot distinguish the blessed from the cursed.
In the shelters of Tel Aviv, they organize traditional parties. Tradition defines the mentality: “Be happy until you cannot distinguish the blessed from the cursed.” A DJ within the crowd says, “If we can’t party outside, we’ll party in here.” Children wear their costumes next to emergency supplies. The scene reminds me of the movie Underground—Bregovic’s music playing in a basement while the world above fractures, everyone clinging to pieces of a normal life that refuses to wither. It is a celebration of survival in the dark. This is the human refusal to surrender identity and hope.
On the other side, many Iranians are fighting heroically for their dreams. Open battles are reported between protesters and the remaining units of the Revolutionary Guard. Videos show people sharing sweets and dancing—an unthinkable sight just days ago. There are reports that units of the regular army are refusing to strike protesters, sometimes even clashing with the Revolutionary Guards to protect the people.
The dream of freedom coexists with the nightmare of civil war. The world holds its breath.
As a Christian, I often wondered about the verse from the Gospel of Matthew (15:24): “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” For the first time, it feels less like exclusion and more like responsibility. Perhaps peace in Israel is not merely a regional matter, but a structural requirement of global stability — not because one nation matters more, but because too many geopolitical fault lines intersect there. If Israel reaches sustainable peace, one of the most volatile pressure points of the international system may finally begin to decompress.
Yet no structural stability can emerge without addressing the unresolved Palestinian dimension that continues to fuel cycles of radicalization. In September 2025, the High-level International Conference outlined a fragile diplomatic horizon. Whether the international system will find the coherence and courage to advance it remains an open question.
History will render its verdict in time.
But for Israelis who grew up with gas masks, and for Iranians who have endured decades of systemic repression, hell did not suddenly open this year.
It has been open for generations.
Enough. The inherited normalization of fear must end.