At Israel's cafes and bars, life may seem normal. But the war has cast a pall nationwide

TEL AVIV, Israel (AP) — At a busy Tel Aviv entertainment district, diners spill into outdoor seating and clink glasses as music fills the air. There’s laughter, there’s life. But all around the patrons, staring down from lampposts and shop windows, are pictures of hostages held in Gaza, stark reminders that Israel is at war and forever scarred by the deadliest attack in its history.

As Israel's war with Hamas reaches its one-year mark, it can seem on the surface that much of life in the country has returned to normal. But with many still reeling from Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack, hostages remaining in captivity and a new front of warwith Hezbollah in the north, many Israelis feel depressed, despondent and angry as the war stretches into its second year.

Uncertainty over the future has cast a pall over virtually every part of daily life, even as people try to maintain a sense of normalcy.

“The conversation about the situation is always there," said activist Zeev Engelmayer, whose daily postcard project featuring illustrations of hostages or Israel's new reality has become a fixture at anti-war protests. "Even those who are sitting in coffee shops, they’re talking about it, in every single situation I see it. It’s impossible to get away from it. It has entered into every vibration of our life.”

Hamas' attack in which some 1,200 people were killed and 250 kidnapped shattered Israelis’ sense of security and stability in their homeland.

Many have been rattled by the war's evolution. Nearly 100 hostages remain in Gaza, with less than 70 believed to be alive. Israelis have experienced attacks — missiles from Iran and Hezbollah, explosive drones from Yemen, fatal shootings and stabbings — as the region braces for further escalation.

They've watched as Israel is accused of committing war crimes and genocide in Gaza and becomes increasingly isolated internationally.

“I’m almost 80 — we grew up in this country with a feeling that we have short wars, and we win them quickly,” said Israeli historian Tom Segev, who described new feelings of utter hopelessness. “We’re not used to a long war.”

Israelis have long harbored a sense that their country, born of the Holocaust's ashes and surviving a panoply of regional threats, is a success story, Segev said. They've strived, he added, for a normality akin to that of European and North American people, though their reality for decades has been anything but.

“I think that history is going backward,” he said of the past year. “Everything we have achieved on our way to becoming a normal state isn’t happening.”

Reminders are everywhere. At a Hebrew University graduation in Jerusalem, a large yellow ribbon was placed in front of the stage. A graduate who didn't attend because his brother was killed in Gaza the previous day was honored.

Israel's longstanding internal divisions briefly eased in the aftermath of Hamas’ attack, but have only intensified since. Weekly protests calling for a cease-fire deal that would free hostages are attended mostly by secular Jewish Israelis who oppose Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his government.

According to a September poll by Jerusalem-based think tank Israel Democracy Institute, 61 percent of right-wing Jewish Israelis — Netanyahu's base — support the war continuing.

Occupied with their own trauma, most Israelis paid scant attention to the ongoing destruction in Gaza, even as the Health Ministry there put the Palestinian death toll at more than 41,000. Israeli media have reported little on the devastation. Israelis calling for a cease-fire are driven overwhelmingly by the hostages' plight.

Many Israelis are furious at leaders and the military for not preventing Hamas’ attack. Tens of thousands of people are expected at an alternative ceremony marking one year since then, as a statement against the government's official commemoration. The state ceremony is being prerecorded without a live audience, in part because of fears of heckling and disruptions.

“The thing we lost on Oct. 7 — and we haven’t gotten it back — is our feeling of security,” Muli Segev, executive producer of "Eretz Nehederet," a popular sketch comedy show. “Despite everything, we have been able to create a life here that’s pretty open and Western.

"Especially in Tel Aviv, we go about our lives, and we don’t think about the fact that our lives are really just pauses between wars and between explosions of violence."

In the war's early months, the show's sketches were gentler, focusing on what united Israeli society, such as the massive civilian volunteer response. Over time, they featured more pointed satire, including a reimagining of negotiations if the hostages were Israeli politicians' children — released in less than two hours.

Parts of life have rebounded — beaches full of people, bustling cafes, concerts and sports back on schedules. But residents also check for the nearest bomb shelter, deal with school cancellations when violence flares up, and avoid domestic travel hubs that are now off-limits. Heartbreaking news arrives regularly, including the deaths of six hostages in August.

“It’s a nightmare; we’re just getting used to it,” said Maya Brandwine, a 33-year-old graphic designer who witnessed the Jaffa shooting that killed seven on Tuesday. “I have so little hope. I’m sure the situation will only get worse.”

Dror Rotches, a 47-year-old graphic designer, said from a Tel Aviv coffee shop: “We try to go out when we can, meet friends and try to forget for a few hours. Then we go home and keep slogging through the mud.”

Others simply can't return home. More than 60,000 from Israel's northern border with Lebanon are displaced. Thousands from the southern towns ransacked Oct. 7 are in temporary housing. Tens of thousands of reserve soldiers are serving their second or third tour of duty, straining their families and jobs.

“As the war goes on and on and we can’t see the end, there’s also a type of very large worry over the future, and, for some, if there is even a future here,” Muli Segev said.

Cafe Otef seems like any of Tel Aviv's ubiquitous coffee shops: Patrons laugh and sip specialty coffee beside a playground; light rock music plays. But next to the sandwiches and cakes are chocolates made from the recipes of Dvir Karp, who was killed in the Oct. 7 attack, and cheeses from Kibbutz Be’eri, where more than 100 died and 30 were taken hostage. Totes and T-shirts for sale declare “We shall thrive again.”

The cafe, named for the region next to the Gaza border, is run by residents of Re'im, one of the kibbutzes struck. It's the second shop in the new chain, each aiming to support people of a southern Israeli town where lives were upended.

“The war still continues for almost a year, and I feel that if we won’t live, we will die,” said Reut Karp, cafe owner and Dvir's ex-wife. She lives with most of her kibbutz in temporary housing nearby.

The cafe gives her purpose as her community deals with trauma and the uncertainty of returning home. While it's strange to see people flowing through the doors, going about life as normal, she and the staff have found comfort in the routine.

“We must take ourselves out of bed and continue to live and to work and to have the hope," Karp said. "Because without this hope, we don’t have anything.”

People at the beach in Tel Aviv, Israel, Wednesday, Sept. 25, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

People on the beach pass by a sign calling for the release of hostages held in the Gaza Strip by Hamas for nearly a year, in Tel Aviv, Israel, Friday, Sept. 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

A worker cleans the floor at an exhibition by Israeli graffiti artist Benzi Brofman that displays portraits of the victims of the Oct. 7 Hamas attack on Israel, in Jerusalem, Sunday, Sept.29, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

Women walk past graffiti calling for the release of hostages held by Hamas militants in the Gaza Strip for nearly a year, in the Carmel market Tel Aviv, Israel, Friday, Sept. 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

People walk next to the market stand belonging to Elkana Bohbot, who was kidnapped from the Nova festival and has not been released from Gaza in the Carmel Market in Tel Aviv, Israel, Sept. 27, 2024.(AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

People listen to Israeli singer Yoni Bloch, who has written new songs about the current war, in concert at a record store in Tel Aviv, Israel, Friday, Sept. 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

An off-duty Israeli soldier carrying her M-16 rifle walks down the street in Tel Aviv Israel, Friday, Sept. 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

Young people chat in the rear of a car in Tel Aviv, Israel, Wednesday, Sept. 25, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

A man stands at the entrance to his empty souvenir shop in the Carmel market in Tel Aviv, Israel, on Wednesday, Sept. 25, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

People travel by light rail in Jerusalem on Wednesday, Sept.18, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

A soldier and a woman wait at a bus stop next to a bomb shelter in the town of Sderot, southern Israel, Monday, Sept. 16, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

An off-duty Israeli soldier carrying his M-16 rifle walks past posters calling for the release of hostages held in the Gaza Strip, in Jerusalem, Friday, Sept.13, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

A couple rides a bicycle near a yellow ribbon sign calling for the release of hostages held in the Gaza Strip by the Hamas militant group for nearly a year, in Tel Aviv, Israel, Monday, Sept. 10, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

Signs calling for the return of hostages held captive by Hamas in Gaza are displayed during a match of the Hapoel Jerusalem soccer team in Jerusalem on Saturday, Sept. 21, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

Signs calling for the release of hostages held in the Gaza Strip are plastered on trees in Tel Aviv's beach, Israel, Saturday, Sept. 14, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

People sit in a bar near a sign calling for the release of hostages held in the Gaza Strip by the Hamas militant group for nearly a year, in Tel Aviv, Israel, Monday, Sept. 10, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

People pass by a sign calling for the release of hostages held in the Gaza Strip by Hamas for nearly a year, in Tel Aviv, Israel, Monday, Sept. 10, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

PANAMA CITY (AP) — They crossed oceans to get to the U.S., fleeing conflict, religious persecution, poverty and government crackdowns in countries such as Afghanistan, Somalia, Cameroon, China, Pakistan and Iran.

After flying to Central and South America, they bused through countries where they didn’t speak the language and walked through unfamiliar jungle to get to the U.S.-Mexico border.

Within days, they were detained and put on military aircraft that flew nearly 300 of them to Panama as U.S. President Donald Trump sought to accelerate deportations to more complicated destinations.

Panama was supposed to be a stopover. But for those unwilling to return home — mostly out of well-founded fear — Panama sent them to a guarded camp without access to lawyers in the same Darién jungle many had crossed months earlier on their way north.

Over the past week, under legal pressure, the Panamanian government dropped them off at a bus station in the capital with 30 days to figure out where they will go next.

“It feels like the whole world is crushing down on me. It’s like everything is stopping,” said Isha Len, a 29-year-old from Cameroon. “I risked everything, my life, everything, crossing the Darién Gap, just to be sent back.”

Here are the stories that some of the deportees told The Associated Press:

After conflict broke out in her small town, Len crossed Cameroon by car and minibus, then a fisherman friend carried her four hours by boat to Nigeria.

Len, a schoolteacher, flew to Sao Paulo, Brazil, where she said authorities detained her for a month in the airport. From there, she wound north through South America by bus, following other migrants until they reached the Darién Gap.

She walked days through the dangerous jungle that divides Colombia and Panama before boarding buses that carried her through Central America. After being kidnapped for days by a gang in Guatemala, she crossed into southern Mexico, where she took a boat along the Pacific coast to evade authorities. After she landed, she rode eight hours to Mexico City, continuing on by bus and car to Tijuana.

She crossed the U.S. border and presented herself to American authorities.

Artemis Ghasemzadeh left her country in January, fleeing after converting from Islam to Christianity – something that could cost Ghasemzadeh her life in Iran. She flew to Dubai, where she stayed two weeks and then took a flight to South Korea.

From there she flew to Mexico City, staying there for three weeks before going to Tijuana. She crossed the U.S. border on Feb. 9, and was detained for five days, including her birthday.

“For changing your religion, your punishment is death," she said. “We don’t know what will happen."

Wang Qiu said he left home after he was imprisoned for three years for speaking out about democracy and human rights issues.

He flew from Beijing to Cuba, then to the small South American country of Suriname. From there, he traveled by land: through Guyana, Brazil, Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador and Colombia, before trekking through the Darién Gap.

He moved up through Central America and Mexico before being detained after crossing into the U.S. in San Diego.

Qamar Abdi, left for the U.S. on Aug. 17, due to warfare between the government and militants of al-Shabab, which the U.S. recognizes as a terrorist group.

She hopped from buses to shared cars for nearly a month until she reached South Africa. From there, she flew to Sao Paulo, Brazil, and spent the next six months riding buses north.

When she arrived at the northern tip of Colombia, she traveled six days through the Darién Gap, landing in Panama on New Year's Day.

She took buses to the southern Mexican border city of Tapachula, where she was temporarily kidnapped and robbed by a gang. To avoid immigration authorities, she traveled hours packed on a boat with other migrants along Mexico's Pacific coast, then took a bus to Mexico City. She spent two weeks there before driving to Tijuana, where she crossed into the U.S.

Ebrahim Ghezelgechi fled Iran with his wife, Sahar; 10-year-old daughter, Aylin; and 11-year-old son, Sam, on Nov. 21.

The family flew to Brazil, then to Panama and finally Nicaragua. From there, they took buses north to Guatemala, then crossed into southern Mexico by boat. They rode on top of trains and in buses and vans to get to Tijuana.

After Mexico authorities sent them back to the southern part of the country, they took a plane to the resort area of Los Cabos. There, they were detained, had their passports taken and were sent back south again.

They tried getting north a number of times, punted back by Mexican authorities, before eventually paying a driver to take them to Tijuana.

After crossing into the U.S., they were detained in San Diego for a week.

Samin Haider left for Dubai in 2023 after violence surged in his region of Parachinar, which borders Afghanistan and has been plagued for decades by conflicts between Shi’ite and Sunni Muslim communities.

Haider was there for 1 1/2 years before the United Arab Emirates canceled visas for Pakistanis.

Haider then flew to Mexico and traveled to the U.S.-Mexico border with the hopes of seeking asylum.

Now deported to Panama, he still hopes to reach the U.S.

Elham Ghaedi left on Oct. 21, flying to Brazil and then to Venezuela's capital Caracas.

She traveled to Colombia, where took a bus north and then walked five days through the Darién Gap.

She stayed 15 days in a migrant camp in southern Panama before taking a bus through Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, Guatemala and to Mexico's southern border. There, migration authorities detained her for six days.

She traveled north to Mexico City, where she spent a month, before boarding a flight to Tijuana. U.S. authorities detained her when she crossed to San Diego.

Omagh fled Afghanistan in 2022 after the takeover of the Taliban because he identified as an atheist and was part of an ethnic minority, something that could put his life in danger.

He first went to Pakistan, where he got a visa for six months, and struggled to get a new one due to his Afghani passport.

He then went to Iran and worked there for 1 1/2 years. But the country wouldn’t accept him as a refugee.

He managed to get a visa to Brazil, which offered a number of Afghan people refuge after the rise of the Taliban, and flew to Sao Paulo in 2024.

Hoping to reunite with friends and family in the U.S., Omagh paid smugglers to move him north through Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador and Colombia. He trekked through the Darién Gap, then took buses north through Central America to southern Mexico.

Mexican authorities detained him and dropped him back in southern Mexico a few times before he managed to take a flight to Mexico City and later to the U.S., where he was detained.

“After so much time, I’ve lost hope,” he said.

Afghan migrant Hayatullah Omagh poses for a portrait in Panama City, Monday, March 10, 2025, after being deported from the United States, detained for weeks in a Panamanian immigration camp and released on a temporary humanitarian visa allowing a 30‑day stay. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)

Elham Ghaedi, a migrant from Iran, poses for a portrait in Panama City, Monday, March 10, 2025, after being deported from the United States, detained for weeks in a Panamanian immigration camp, and released on a temporary humanitarian visa allowing a 30‑day stay. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)

Samin Haider, left, a migrant from Pakistan, and his cousin Saqlain Sayed, pose for a portrait in Panama City, Monday, March 10, 2025, after being deported from the United States, detained for weeks in a Panamanian immigration camp, and released on a temporary humanitarian visa allowing a 30‑day stay. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)

Ebrahim Ghezelgechi, right, a migrant from Iran, poses for a portrait with his wife Sahar Bideman and their children Sam and Aylin in Panama City, Monday, March 10, 2025, after they were deported from the U.S., detained for weeks in a Panamanian immigration camp, and released on a temporary humanitarian visa allowing a 30‑day stay. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)

Qamar Abdi and Filsan Aliin, migrants from Somalia, pose for a portrait at the hotel where they are staying in Panama City, Monday, March 10, 2025, after being deported from the United States, detained for weeks in a Panamanian immigration camp, and released on a temporary humanitarian visa allowing a 30‑day stay. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)

Wang Qiu, a migrant from China, poses for a portrait in Panama City, Tuesday, March 11, 2025, after being deported from the United States, detained for weeks in a Panamanian immigration camp, and released on a temporary humanitarian visa allowing a 30‑day stay. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)

Artemis Ghasemzadeh, a migrant from Iran, poses for a portrait in Panama City, Monday, March 10, 2025, after being deported from the United States, detained for weeks in a Panamanian immigration camp, and released on a temporary humanitarian visa allowing a 30‑day stay. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)

Isha Len, a migrant of Cameroon, poses for a photo in Panama City, Monday, March 10, 2025, after being deported from the U.S., detained for weeks in a Panamanian immigration camp, and released on a temporary humanitarian visa allowing a 30‑day stay. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)

Migrants who were held in a Panamanian immigration shelter after being deported from the U.S. embraced upon arriving in Panama City on Saturday, March 8, 2025, after authorities gave them 30 days to leave the country. (AP Photo/Matias Delacroix)