I have been running the only Hebrew live blog of the Egypt revolution for the past eight days, 16 hours a day on the average, updating every minute, learning the basics of Egyptian politics as a I go, wishing desperately I had the privilege of a non-Israeli passport to travel there and cover the news without becoming part of the news myself.  Together with a small band of devoted news scouts and tweet hunters – Eyal Clyne, Hagar Shezaf, Shaul Hanuka, Itamar Sha’altiel and Yuval Drier Shilo, we have kept a lifeline of information to Israelis here and around the world, updating sometimes minute by minute, drawing tens of thousands of readers exasperated at the slow trickle of news in the Israeli mainstream media.  And still, we felt exactly what we were – deeply moved, but far removed. Anxious, but unable to help. Feeling and working in solidarity, but not facing any real risk.

It’s now 3. A.M. in Tel Aviv, the day before the final push, the Day of Departure. Somewhere, not too far from here, thousands of people like me, like my parents, like my sister, like my friends, like everyone I ever knew, are lying awake, awaiting the dawn, counting back to the end of noontime prayers shortly after midday tomorrow; when they will throw themselves on everything that was always wrong with their lives, like a droning, debilitating background hum. They will rip through that hum with a tremendous, roaring noise, and they will haul themselves onto spiked fences of batons, bullets, tear gas – and silence. I wish there was something I could do to help, but all I can do is going to sleep with them in my thoughts and with the determination to bear witness, if even from miles away. Good luck tomorrow.