To be an Israeli mum is to see how your foetus (already, when the doctor says “It’s a boy”) grows to be a soldier in uniform, with road dust in his hair, a rifle on his shoulder, and his eyes full of innocence. And to start being worried.

To be an Israeli mum is to teach your daughter not to show weakness in front of her third-grade classmates, because she will have to be strong in front of her tough commander at age 18.

To be an Israeli mum is to complain about your country quite a bit, but always tell your children it’s the best place in the world.

To be an Israeli mum is to be scared when the sirens go off, but to remember it’s more important that your children don’t stress out and aren’t afraid, so you take a deep breath and tend to them first, like you are super-cool.

To be an Israeli mum is to be involved, to “consume” the news like a drug addict, to protest for or against, and always feel responsible for what’s going on here, because it’s yours. It’s your state, and it’s your children that will protect it. And to know that you don’t have the option to be indifferent, not in this country. And, sometimes, to agonise that you didn’t protest more.

To be an Israeli mum is to know about the situation no less than the chief of staff. And if you meet him, let him know what you think should be done.

To be an Israeli mum who lives by the border, near Gaza in the south or near Lebanon in the north, is to be part of a chain of wonderful brave Israeli women, for whom guarding their homes means guarding their country. And to hope this time will be the last.

To be an Israeli mum is to see uniforms hanging on the laundry rope, and to know that the mother or father who will fold them might shed a small tear and say a prayer that comes from deep within their heart.

To be an Israeli mum is to look at photos of our killed soldiers and try not to think about how much they look like your own son. And to think about it anyway.

To be an Israeli mum these days is to see a bereaved mother and feel her sharp pain in your chest, to run out of air. It’s to know that that bereaved mother is not someone else; she is a mom exactly like you. And that it could have been you. To feel you are soul sisters, and hurt with her. To want to hold and hug her, but at the same time know you will never be able to actually ease her pain, and that there are no words.

To be an Israeli grandma is not to believe that both your grandson and granddaughter are being drafted to the army. After all, you were the one who told their grandpa, when he went to war, that by the time you had grandchildren this would end. And to wonder whether it will ever end.

To be an Israeli mum is to know that all you want to give your children is security, and to realise that this is the one thing you cannot actually promise them. And still know for a fact that Israel is the best place for your child. (I know this cannot really be explained to anyone who is not an Israeli.)

To be an Israeli mum is to want peace, but not be willing to give up safety or security. It’s to get through the current month in Israel and to know that an Israeli mom deserves to grow her children quietly. It’s also to know that one day peace and safety will come.

Because peace is the promise of the Israeli mother. And even if it looks so far away now, trust her. It will come. Because being an Israeli mum is to be someone that never, ever gives up.

On Being Jewish Now, a collection of 75 essays, is available on Amazon for £9.99 (Zibby Books)