Buzz! Buzz! The 8:15 a.m. warning seemed longer this time – and louder. Not exactly what I remembered from the previous war with Iran, but the message was clear. Go! Fast!
We have a mamad (safe room) in our home. But we spent Shabbos Zachor (February 28) visiting my daughter and son-in-law in Yerucham, a southern town in the Negev. Their friends who live one floor below them kindly let us stay in their apartment while they were away. Buildings in their area have no safe rooms or elevators. Getting to safety is more complicated.
Shabbos morning, my husband and son-in-law were davening in the yeshivah when I was startled by the warning. My daughter grabbed her baby, and we ran to the nearest public shelter. In dreaded anticipation of an alert, I had slept in my clothes. After struggling with the lock because of my shaky hands, I ran out holding a mitpachat on my head like a babushka. My daughter ran without shoes. Most of the people running for shelter were still in their pajamas.
When we arrived at the shelter, I was surprised to find a small crowd standing at the entrance. When I peeked inside, I understood why. The shelter was dirty in a way that made it impossible to step inside. Someone checking his phone announced that the alert was not warning of an incoming rocket. It was more of an “on your mark.” They wanted to inform the public that we had begun our attack on Iran. They wanted us to be aware and to be ready. Mission accomplished! We were now in the know.
When my husband and son-in-law returned from the yeshivah, they told us that as they had taken cover in one of the shelters in the yeshivah, someone opened a locked closet safe filled with automatic weapons and distributed them to those who expected to be called up by the IDF. Indeed, some were called up. It was still early Shabbos morning, but with one short alarm, the tone of the day had completely shifted.
During kiddush, another warning rang out. Grabbing the baby who had just fallen asleep, we ran to a different shelter, a bit farther away, but much nicer. It was also filled with avreichim from the yeshivah. Many came equipped with wine and cake for Kiddush and toys for the children. Friends ate, shmoozed, and enjoyed each other’s company. The atmosphere was relaxed and upbeat.
As we headed home after the all-clear, a red alert sounded, warning that we had 90 seconds to reach safety. We ran to the closest shelter, which had no place to sit and was pitch-black. Just a handful of people stood inside. A father fed his son pizza while their dog sat calmly and comfortably nearby. By the time we returned home, we were hungry. We hoped we would get through our s’udah before the next alert.
We had managed to wash and start eating when we heard a knock at the door. A young man needed the key to our host’s apartment as the husband had been called up to fight. He needed to find his friend’s uniform and bring it to their base. This was concerning, especially since our hostess was due to give birth the following week. We were also concerned that our own family members and friends may be called up.
With each alert, we became smarter and more prepared. The next time, we brought our food. We ate the rest of lunch in the shelter along with many others. Someone turned on a plasma TV, and some watched the news with the sound off. But most were frum people who kept their backs to the screen and continued talking as if it weren’t there. One woman, still in her pajamas, was thrilled when another woman prepared a big plate of food for her, explaining that they had brought food for everyone.
She enjoyed every bite and appreciated being in the company of others. She told me that she usually doesn’t check the news on her phone on Shabbos, but under the circumstances, she felt it was necessary.
Once again, we returned to the shelter near the end of Shabbos. For the first time that I remember, I didn’t hear Parshas Zachor. It felt strange to miss it.
After Shabbos, we quickly packed up and drove back home without incident. Baruch Hashem. My husband played relaxing music on our Spotify and kept the news off during the relatively long ride home. No need to make us more anxious than we already were. When our daughter and son-in-law followed us a few hours later, they saw interceptions in the sky as they drove. It was quite unsettling. They moved in with us so they could have a safe room in the house.
When we are woken by red alerts several times during the night, we greatly appreciate having our mamad nearby. We shut off our phones and enter the safe room in total silence. We do not want to wake my sleeping grandson, whose schedule has already been thrown off balance by the war. Luckily, despite the booms we hear from outside, he sleeps through the night.
School was canceled due to the situation. To give children a taste of the Purim parties they had been looking forward to, some held street costume parties with neighbors, and others did them over Zoom. This was obviously not ideal, but it was the best possible under the circumstances.
On the second day of the war, a ballistic missile directly hit a shul that was situated on top of a public shelter in the old part of Beit Shemesh. Windows were blown out, and kitchen cabinets tumbled to the floor in the neighborhood we lived in when we first made aliyah. This was obviously not the “regular” landings we were used to from the previous war. Tragically, nine people were killed, among them three children from the same family. In addition, 44 were injured, and nearly 850 residents were displaced. Families that lost their homes were relocated to a hotel in Yerushalayim.
In the wake of the disaster, officials from across the political spectrum visit the site. Prime Minister Netanyahu tried twice but had to turn back because of sirens before finally making it. President Herzog kissed a pair of t’filin recovered from the rubble. Opposition leader Yair Lapid was evacuated to a nearby shelter when a siren sounded during his visit.
Now, every strange sound is scrutinized. Every activity is carefully scheduled. Showering is rushed to prevent getting caught by a siren. When baking for Purim, I was lucky that a siren wailed exactly as I shut off my oven. We delivered mishloach manos in between alerts.
On Shushan Purim, we took our grandchildren to a local park, close enough to get us home in time if a siren sounded. When the warning alert rang out, each adult grabbed a kid and ran home to safety.
I was caught by an alert when driving between apartments at work. I pulled into a gas station and was told they have a protected space. But after I parked, I was told that they don’t have one. I scrambled to get to my destination before the siren. When the siren rang out, I squeezed into the safe room with a bunch of the special needs residents I work with. One of them refused to let me close the window. He blocked the window with his body and refused to budge. Luckily, we soon got the all-clear.
These are crazy times, to say the least. B’ezras Hashem, the next blast we hear will not be a red alert warning us of incoming missiles, but the blast of the shofar announcing the arrival of Mashiach.
Please continue to daven for peace in Eretz Yisrael and for the success and safe return of all chayalim and security personnel.
Suzie Steinberg, (nee Schapiro), CSW, is a native of Kew Gardens Hills and resident of Ramat Beit Shemesh who publishes articles regularly in various newspapers and magazines about life in general, and about life in Israel in particular. Her recently published children’s book titled Hashem is Always With Me can be purchased in local Judaica stores as well as online. Suzie can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. and would love to hear from you.