Dealing with Tourette Syndrome in a State of War in Israel – Opinion
As the war in Israel drags on, I must grapple not only with the suffering of war, but also with an ongoing internal battle with Tourette syndrome. The burden of my illness is compounded by societal pressures and perceptions surrounding it, especially at a time of heightened national tension. In Israel, a country so deeply connected by a shared sense of identity and struggle, being perceived as “different” can be unbearable.
Tourette syndrome is a neurological disorder characterized by repetitive, involuntary movements and vocalizations called tics. These tics can range from simple movements such as blinking, shoulder shrugging, and body jerks to more complex actions or vocal sounds such as grunting, clearing the throat, or even saying words out of context. These tics are often disruptive and noticeable, attracting unwanted attention and sometimes leading to misunderstandings from others. Living with Tourette in Israel is a complex affair even in peacetime. Living here during a war can really test one’s courage.
When sirens sound and terrorist attacks occur, such as the January 15 terrorist attack outside my house in Ra’anana, my tics become exaggerated, revealing my inner turmoil to the outside world. In quieter moments, when the rockets and screams subside, the echoes of the glances and whispers remain, reinforcing my sense of isolation.
The concept of “otherness” in Israel, especially in wartime, goes beyond physical manifestations. It is a psychological battlefield where the relentless drive to fit in collides with the reality of otherness. When I visited a Jewish holy site in Jerusalem early in the war, I was detained by border police for “suspicious behavior.” I could understand their position, because if someone is fidgeting, making strange statements and grunting, it can be a cause for concern for those providing security.
I was nervous because I was afraid of being perceived as a threat. This only made my tics worse and made the border police even more suspicious. After checking my ID and giving me a stern warning about my “behavior,” despite my attempts to explain the syndrome behind the bizarre behavior, I was allowed to leave. Later, I reflected that those who “stand out” risk being perceived as a “target,” not only for external threats, but also for internal biases and prejudices.
The pain of “otherness” is made worse because discussions about Israel on an international level often veer into hostile territory and reflect sentiments that reinforce feelings of being an outsider. For someone with Tourette syndrome, this is even more difficult, as the desire for understanding and acceptance feels like an illusory dream in an increasingly polarized world.
On a recent visit to Georgia, my tics became noticeably worse at the security checkpoint. I was taken aside for two hours, subjected to a body search and extensive questioning before being allowed to board my flight. The Georgian police officers who questioned me said that “someone like me is causing problems in these times.”
The pain of “otherness” is universal, but it is amplified in Israel’s charged atmosphere. While my fellow countrymen stand united against external threats, I am waging an internal struggle, seeking recognition amidst the noise of conflict. In a country so deeply connected to history and heritage, the struggle to belong when one’s existence is shaped by involuntary differences feels like an uphill battle against entrenched perceptions.
Imagine walking down a busy street in Tel Aviv or standing in line at a cafe in Jerusalem, feeling the growing burden of stares and comments whispered or spoken disparagingly while tics manifest involuntarily. The feeling of being “different” becomes palpable. A few months after the war began, on my way to meet friends in Tel Aviv, I was stopped by two police officers who had been called by a “concerned citizen” about my behavior. Although they were initially nervous about my tics, fortunately they were more understanding than the border police, and after a few minutes I was allowed to continue on my way.
I do not blame this “concerned citizen”, the border police or even the regular police. I have deep sympathy for the attitude of these people. I can understand that in the eyes of my fellow countrymen, already sensitized by the omnipresent security concerns, a distrust of someone like me – a person with sometimes uncontrollable movements and noises – would be justified. I just want to educate people like the “concerned citizen” and the “nervous officer” about this syndrome.
A message of personal strength
My message is one of personal strength in the face of adversity. It is a call to embrace diversity within our own ranks and cultivate empathy beyond our borders. It is a reminder that the human spirit can persist and thrive even in the face of adversity and misunderstanding. As I navigate the complex intersection of Tourette syndrome and the realities of life in Israel, I strive not only to survive but to thrive – holding on to hope and belief that understanding and acceptance can bridge the gap that separates us.
In a nation often faced with external and internal challenges, the fight for inclusivity and compassion is as important as any military defense. By embracing our shared humanity, we can create a more empathetic and inclusive society—one where differences are not barriers, but threads that enrich the fabric of our collective identity. Along the way, those of us who suffer from conditions like Tourette’s can find comfort in knowing that our struggles contribute to a broader narrative of resilience and perseverance.
As the rockets take off and tensions rise and fall, my journey with Tourette’s in Israel continues – a continuing testament to resilience in the face of adversity. My hope remains unshakable: for a day when “otherness” is celebrated, not ostracized; when diversity is embraced, not feared. Until then, I face each day with courage, knowing that my existence, however unconventional, is a testament to the unwavering spirit of a nation that thrives despite its complexity.
The author is a mental health and Tourette syndrome advocate and author. He is a graduate of Bar-Ilan University and works as a Customer Success Specialist at Belong: a start-up that provides personalized advice to olim (new immigrants) going through the aliyah process and resettlement in Israel.
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