A resident of Asturias, a long-term observer of the conflict and a mother living north of Tel Aviv, speaks about the fear of traveling to the airport with a young daughter and a dog and waiting for days to learn if a flight will depart, especially now under the threat of missiles launched from Hamas. The fear is real and personal, touching a family that had hoped for safety and a quiet routine, now disrupted by a war that nobody anticipated would reach their doorstep.
Inside the circle of a goalkeeper’s family, the daughter of Jesús Castro and the niece of Enrique Castro, the alarms ring clearly. There were two sets of explosions that marked the onset of the attack, one Saturday when the first blasts shattered the calm, another on a Monday when risk seemed to escalate anew. The family recalls the sudden sense of danger that arrived with loud noises, red tracer lights, and the roar of rockets lighting up the night sky and the city’s protective shield in the distance.
When the dog was stepped outside, the sight was stark: rockets cutting through the air with bright trails, the sounds of explosions, and the constant hum of helicopters carrying missiles. The building urged caution about venturing far with the dog. The blare of fighter jets and the busy noise along the Gaza corridor added to the sense of siege and urgency.
Initially, the family felt the promise of safety in the region, even as warnings persisted that missiles could cross the skies at any moment. Time passed, and at various moments, both Hamas and Israel launched volleys, yet the family admitted they did not foresee a war of this scale unfolding before their eyes.
As the days unfolded, the sadness in the streets became palpable. The family notes a shift away from hatred toward a shared sorrow among civilians. Faces transformed by the brutality of events, with people of all ages affected. The focus shifted to locating the missing, rather than seeking revenge. Still, there is a clear desire for self-defense and for protection in a country that feels like home and deserves safety for its residents.
There is a deep sense of melancholy about the beauty of the country and the warmth of its people. The locals who welcomed them with open arms are remembered as friendly and hospitable. The feeling that everything familiar has changed is expressed with a quiet, eloquent lament about the emptiness left behind by the conflict.
Communication becomes a lifeline. The family members are constantly connected, and messages flow in with updates and fears. The mother, living in Asturias, is deeply saddened by the situation. The alarm responses and shelter visits have left her anxious, praying for her relatives and hoping for their safety as the crisis continues to unfold.
The decision not to attempt an urgent departure to the airport reflects the chaotic reality on the ground. The airport itself is described as overwhelmed and a possible target, with missiles still falling in the vicinity. Still, there is an understanding that people are doing everything possible to leave and seek safety, even when the route is dangerous and uncertain.
Across the distance, Blanca Covían, the mother, reframes the crisis with a heavy-hearted perspective from Asturias. The repeated shelter visits and the fear for her loved ones create a lasting image of a terrible situation that grips the entire family and their wider network of friends and neighbors. The emotional weight is immense, as families hold onto hope while facing a volatile and uncertain future.