"The city wants to come back to life, but you can't just snap back into task mode," said a university lecturer and mother of two teenagers in Israel.

by Tamara Traubmann

JERUSALEM, June 28 (Xinhua) -- The night before Israel launched a surprise attack on Iran, my husband boarded a flight to Belgrade for what was supposed to be a quiet weekend getaway. I kissed him goodbye, unaware that within hours, the country would be at war.

Hours later, the unprecedented wave of airstrikes on Iran erupted. Almost immediately, the government shut down the country's airspace. My husband was stuck abroad.

I woke to dozens of alerts and headlines. Having covered Israel's many wars over the years, I thought I had grown desensitized to shock. But this time I felt different. A war with Iran had long been considered the worst-case scenario -- the one Israelis were raised to fear most -- a war that might define the country's very survival.

Nearly two weeks later, a ceasefire was declared. That night, my husband returned home. Friends visited. We sat on the porch, overlooking Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean Sea. That night, for the first time in days, there were no sirens. I slept through the night and woke to sunlight without being disturbed by alarms.

Despite a moment of relief, tension still lingered. Though security restrictions had been lifted and the economy officially reopened, the streets and buses remained half-empty. Life had not snapped back.

Beneath the calm surface, people were troubled by a sense of disorientation and mistrust. The government had declared the war over, but few seemed convinced.

In Tel Aviv, a city that proudly calls itself "the city that never sleeps," most of the lights went dark during the war. Many shops, cafes and offices remained shuttered. Israelis stayed close to home -- in their neighborhood shelters or "mamads," the reinforced safe rooms built into newer apartments.

"The city wants to come back to life, but you can't just snap back into task mode." said a friend of mine, a university lecturer and mother of two teenagers. She postponed student assignments, sensing her students would not be able to concentrate.

While feeling happy that "the ceasefire began, you must remember there are still hostages in Gaza. The war hasn't ended," she noted.

Dani Levi, a bank employee, said he was not sure whether both countries would keep the ceasefire terms. The return to work seemed abrupt and unnatural for him. "It's like going from zero to a hundred," he said.

"You were not even given time to process. You just woke up and everything was back to normal, as if war was a routine part of Israeli life," he said.

Hen Paldi, a mother of two, shared similar doubts. "It ended as suddenly as it began. But who says it's really safe now?" she said. Her five-year-old's daycare remained closed. "The kids are confused. So are we," she said. "Can't believe that this is truly the end."

Official figures show this war had the broadest impact on Israel's home front in recent history. According to a report released Wednesday by Israel's tax authority, 32,975 residential units and 4,119 vehicles were damaged in the war nationwide. Roughly 10,000 Israelis were displaced from their homes.

Despite the ceasefire, Israeli authorities have not given the people reassurance. Military Spokesperson Effie Defrin said the army would maintain a high level of alert across all fronts.

According to official Israeli and Iranian figures, 29 Israelis and over 400 Iranians were killed.

As attention shifts back to domestic politics, the weekly protests -- suspended during the war -- are expected to resume to demand a ceasefire with Hamas and the release of hostages still held in Gaza. The war with Iran may have bought time for Israel's leadership, but it does not resolve the underlying crisis.

The missiles may have stopped, but the questions have not. For many, the silence bespeaks anything but security.