I turn on Waze to check the route, even though I know it by heart. Maybe I’m turning it on just to make sure it still isn’t working. To ensure that the war is still ongoing. Or maybe I’ve grown so used to it that I’ve lost confidence in myself and in my knowledge of the country. Colored icons pile on top of one another on the screen, each reflecting a different personality: some with a pirate’s bandanna, some with a warrior’s sword, but all pointing toward Rafic Hariri International Airport in Beirut. I exit the app to look at the road. “Are you sure you want to exit?” Yes. I’m sure. I turn off the radio too. I don’t want to hear the news. I listen to the silence attentively. Then I turn the radio back on and tune it to the classical music station, just so I’ll know if a siren goes off. When it is time for the newscast, I’ll mute it again. I don’t want to listen to the news in Hebrew.
