One
Hagit’s family were all accounted for in the shelter after an afternoon siren, except for her son Amit.
“Where’s Amit,” asked her neighbor Maya, holding her two-year-old daughter in her lap.
“He went to Jerusalem to get a tattoo for his 21st birthday,” answered Hagit.
That night, for the 2:30 a.m. gathering, Amit showed up and proudly displayed for all those present the fresh tattoo on his shoulder, based on a sketch that he had drawn.
“Let me know where you got it done,” said a teenage girl in the corner. “I’ll go there and get one when the war is over.”
Two
Shaylee, a precocious three-year-old girl, is enjoying the captive audience in the bomb shelter by putting on a show. Her parents, both native Israelis, decided to teach her English from a young age, and encouraged her to recite the numbers from one to 10 and the ABC to those gathered in the middle of the night.
The result was a room of 18 Israelis singing “A-B-C-D-E-F-G…” in heavily accented English as Iron Dome booms echoed in the distance.
Three
Together with the adults and children populating the bomb shelter, there is no shortage of dogs.
On this visit, there were three small critters – one in its owner’s arms, and two walking around – greeting everyone and wondering why all these people were up in the middle of the night.
Kobi’s dog, Snow, a white (surprise) American Eskimo-like breed, was particularly friendly. Petting him, Iris noticed a few spots of pink skin showing through his shorn fur.
“What’s this?” she asked.
Kobi’s adult daughter, Sapir, laughed and said, “Since my dad retired, he decided that he’s going to be a professional dog groomer. He bought all these shearing devices, and he decided to try it out on Snow. I yelled to him ‘Stop!’ when I saw he was getting close to the skin, but he kept on going.”
Amid laughter, Kobi shrugged, and said, “It will grow back.”
Four
It’s never clear when it’s safe to leave after the missile salvo is over, as the “all clear” Home Front message rarely arrives. So it’s become a predictable ritual that some bomb shelter regulars decide to leave earlier than others.
Batya is antsy from the get-go, and as soon as the 10-minute wait is over, she says, “That’s it, I’m going home” and bolts out the door.
Then a slow trickle begins, some people looking sheepish, as they join her. Others wait a few minutes more before venturing outside.
Another ritual is the farewell comment: “Good night. I hope I don’t see you again.”
Five
Some people get territorial over their bomb shelters. Ours is designated for two buildings – six apartments per building. Even though ours can comfortably fit 15 to 20 people with chairs for all, it can get a bit claustrophobic.
One night, a family of five who lived up the street showed up and sat themselves down.
Nobody was going to say anything – there’s always room for more – but Hagit, who’s known to speak her mind, couldn’t hold back.
“Erev tov. Isn’t there a shelter in your building?”
The mother of the family mumbled something about it not being in great condition and they heard that ours was.
We held our breath, waiting for Hagit to say something. Instead, she reached behind her, grabbed an open package of chocolate biscuits, and said, “Who wants one?”