Since the outbreak of the war, the news broadcasts have taken up the morning strips, and the reality of television, like the daily reality of all of us, has left little room for the stories and excitement of life we knew until that terrible morning.
Like everyone else, Leon and I have changed their routines. Not only on the political level, but on the personal, most basic and immediate level. Our mornings are no longer a race of actions that must be done, until the moment comes when we have to sit down in the moderator chairs, look straight into the camera and say "Good morning." Sometimes it's a strange feeling to wake up without an adrenaline rush and not get an email in the middle of the night with scripts and schedules.
Since 2015, from the moment we woke up to the start of the broadcast, we lived family mornings in a timely and precise chain of rigid and immovable schedules. While most people arrive at the office and start the day gradually, with the first coffee, we were already put on makeup, dressed, combed, connected to an earpiece and ready to go on for two and a half hours of live broadcast in front of the people of Israel.
From the moment the camera turns on, there is no ability to do anything but concentrate on listening, emphasize what is interesting, exciting or funny, interview, respond, accept with understanding a positive or negative public echo for every little joke, also receive a loving hug and appreciation for important statements, arouse sympathy in people who are watching - and it's okay to make them angry - as long as they do not remain indifferent.
Our program was not only a TV show, but also a window into our lives. Unfiltered slit and sometimes even raw, as we like. The bonus of all this was the embrace we received from viewers and viewers, which resonated far beyond the boundaries of the screen. The authentic sharing of our lives, even in their less glamorous parts, seems to have aroused the desire to share back with us, to the point where there is no going out to the supermarket or entertainment that does not include some honest conversations with strangers and strangers who feel that they know us. And it's really a little true, they know some of us.
To our daughters, Sheila and Arbel, it doesn't seem strange at all that a woman I don't know would stop me on the street and say, "I have to tell you how thanks to you I changed the way I talk to my daughter," or another would scold me as if we were old friends: "Paula, it's not right that you haven't talked about the kindergarten failure yet. I expected you." Nor are they surprised when someone shouts at us from the car window: "Say, are you like that at home too? Why does it sting you? Why are you interrupting him?"
Many gifts
The program "Paula and Leon" gave us many gifts. Quite a few interviewees who visited our studio over the years remained part of our lives, especially those we were able to help. We even contracted COVID-19 thanks to our desire to connect beyond a few minutes of on-screen interview. It happened when we invited a charming young couple, who were guests in the studio and whose story touched our hearts, for Friday dinner at our house - and of course they didn't know they had been infected. I didn't regret for a moment the two weeks in isolation we had to spend afterwards. It was worth it.
We were also fortunate that the headline on the content board of the manager in charge of us in Keshet broadcasts was "What interests Paula and Leon." In other words, we received a huge gift that holds responsibility, out of the belief of those who entrusted us with the morning strip that the topics that intrigue, bother and excite us deserve a big stage like Channel 12, and out of non-obvious credit that we will know how to choose topics that will arouse interest in the audience as well, and will also bring ratings.
Over the years, we have brought the human stories that touched our hearts. Together with a wonderful content and production team, we have surfaced omissions and injustices and created media storms more than once. Some love, some hate, but I have hardly met people who reacted indifferently to our presence, and for that I am very happy.
Even when I insisted on bringing to the forefront topics uncharacteristic of a morning show, such as feminism and body image, I usually met an open mind and partners and creative partners who flowed with my slightly more outlandish ideas – including a protest march of women in bikinis in the studio, hidden cameras in clothing stores that don't hold a variety of sizes, or a journey of several weeks in which people are taught intuitive eating. And all this - alongside the man I wake up with every morning, raise our beloved daughters with and run a family with.
A place to shine
As you've probably read, in the shadow of the war, the date of the show's return is shrouded in uncertainty. Not surprisingly, this is not even the most significant ambiguity in our lives, when we have no idea when and how the war will end, if missiles will come from the north and how it will all develop. Uncertainty is everywhere when reality is tainted by war, and from the perspective of three months, I feel how the absence of our morning show routine has affected our thought processes, worldview, and relationships. A combination of liberation and loss, a sense of longing for what was, along with excitement for the new things that are taking shape and color these very days.
We meet each other again, away from the cameras and the expectations of the audience and the system, excited by professional projects that each of us develops on our own. There is, of course, a sense of loss in stepping away from the routine that has defined us for so long, but there is also a sense of discovery – the fulfillment of dreams and aspirations that have been shelved due to the intense dynamics of a daily live program.
On October 7, our world changed, in all sorts of ways. For some of us, this is a cruel and unbearable change, and for others, the one Leon and I belong to, the war changed our livelihoods and jobs. The lack of our familiar routine deepened the change that had already begun before, both individually and as a couple. Fortunately, throughout the years of the program we continued to develop our other business and professional areas, but the change goes far beyond making a living, because "Paula and Leon" was never just a place to work. We developed and grew within it as a couple, as interviewers, as content people, as citizens for whom this place is dear. The two of us together, and each one separately.
We learned a lot about topics ranging from parenting to economics and medicine to the complexities of social justice. We were there, asking, listening, sharing, debating and connecting. We were there really. The program shaped not only our morning, but also a significant part of our identity. Years in an amusement park of stories, campaigns, opinion columns, interviews, cooking, dancing. Sometimes it felt like a thrilling rollercoaster, and sometimes like a terrifying demon coaster. There were short periods that felt like a leisurely cruise on the lake on the outskirts of the theme park, but those were really only a few days.
Now, in the absence of the program, other parts of us are getting room to shine. Between meetings about new projects, lectures, concerts, volunteering, and taking care of the girls and at home, perhaps the big little thing that happens to Leon and me is that suddenly we can choose to meet in the morning before everyone goes about their business.
Some mornings we manage to find time to have coffee together on the terrace. This is new to us. We find ourselves discussing not only our personal future, but also the future of the Israeli media, of how stories are told in a world that is undergoing a revolution in the way we interact with information and content. In the midst of being forced to let go of what has hitherto been, we have also gained the ability to re-choose where we take our knowledge, experience and passion in the rapidly changing digital and fragmented world.
The desire to listen
Perhaps this is the time for all of us to learn that forced change is as much a catalyst for growth and development as the change we chose. Every change requires a reexamination of what we want from our careers, of the deep meaning of the word "success." The meaning of this general concept changes even more intensely in times of war, which emphasizes the transience of routines, even those that last for years.
So when people ask me, "How do you feel?" I answer, "Excitement mixed with uncertainty." But amidst all these changes, one thing remains constant—the desire to listen, ask questions, tell stories, share experiences and make connections. I take this with me everywhere I go, discovering new ways to give and receive value.
I raise a toast to the lives of the unwritten chapters of all of our lives, to the lives of stories waiting to be told, and to the life of curiosity in discovering what lies beyond the familiar script.
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