Generally, I am someone who doesn’t get scared of missiles or bombs. I know that sounds strange. Perhaps it’s denial. Perhaps it's stupidity. Perhaps it’s desensitization or a combination of several factors. Regardless, throughout this war, I have maintained that the chance of a missile hitting Jerusalem, and especially my exact building, is so small - that I have no reason to be scared, and well, if it does, it’s not in my control, so why worry unnecessarily.
But war with Iran is no joke. The constant barrages of missiles flying overhead, the ear-splitting alerts and sirens going off at erratic hours throughout the night – always when you have just managed to get some shuteye – accompanied by the earth-shattering booms that make your whole building shake and that leave you ready to jump every time you hear a car alarm or door slam – it is no joke.
I have become a living jack-in-the-box with sunken grey eyes who jumps at every little sound. And if that wasn’t enough, I made the genius decision to move apartments last week, the day the shit hit the fan (i.e. Israel attacked Iran).
Obviously, I am aware that there are far worse situations that I could be in and that there are many, many people who have it far worse than me. But within my cocooned, self-centered, privileged existence – well I can safely say that this has been the longest 13 days of my life.
A long 13 days: Bomb shelters and new apartments in Jerusalem during war with Iran
Day one of the war found me moving myself and my 20 suitcases across Jerusalem. After several failed attempts on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night, lifting my heavy belongings up and down several flights of stairs, I finally made it to my new apartment on Sunday night – paraphernalia and all (thanks to the help of several friends). This meant that on Sunday night, having finally unpacked and cleaned my room, I had just gotten into bed when the first siren went off.
Naturally, I hadn’t planned on meeting my entire neighborhood on the first night that I’d moved in, in my pajamas, but like the good law-abiding citizen that I am, I begrudgingly dragged myself to the bomb shelter like my life depended on it (it kind of did).
My neighbors were quite astounded when they learned that I’d moved in an hour ago.
And so began the nightly ritual; half-settling into bed but never feeling truly relaxed, keeping my shoes and keys close by, and running in and out of the bomb shelter, meeting various neighbors along the way. Everyone is very warm and friendly here and offered to help me out if I needed. I quickly learned which apartment everyone lives in, and I now know my building’s tenants better than I ever knew the people who I shared a building with in Armon Hanatziv for three years.
One lady in particular stands out to me because of our bizarre encounter. That first Sunday night, as I was running to the mamad, without yet knowing where it was, I met a lovely lady on the staircase trying to control her four giant dogs who were – understandably – going wild. We had a quick conversation in Hebrew. She told me that she prefers not to take her dogs to the mamad as they bother the neighbors. I noticed that she had an accent and for some reason, assumed she was Russian.
For several nights, I met this Russian lady on the staircase with her dogs, and we had some brief, hurried exchanges. One night she happened to ask me what I was doing in Israel and where I was from. I have never been more dumbfounded in my life than when I said that I’m from London, and she replied with an accent more British than mine: “Me too.” We’d been talking in Hebrew for several nights in a row! I stared at her in shock for a good few seconds. It was around 2 a.m. and I was convinced that either she was lying or I was hallucinating – her voice, language, and accent didn't match her face! Turns out she’d thought I was French because of my awful Hebrew accent. We now talk in English, but I still believe that she’s a non-native English speaker, despite her telling me multiple times that she grew up in London and that she lived there way longer than I ever did.
At some point, I lost track of whether it was day or night and stopped caring what I was wearing, as long as I was clothed.
I’ll be honest – there were many times throughout this experience when I considered staying in bed, contemplating my mortality and whether it was worth leaving the soft warmth of the covers, reasoning that I’ve lived a great life thus far, but ultimately coming to the conclusion that there is much more life that I would like to live.
There was only one night when I was truly scared. I can’t remember when it was. At this point, every day/night had blurred into one long stretch of groundhog day. But I was sitting in bed at around midnight, watching my TV show, and patiently waiting for the first siren. (We learned and grew accustomed to the siren schedule, although every now and again, Iran threw one in at a random hour to throw you off - the bastards).
So when I received the first alert, since I only had a few minutes left of my show, I decided to finish it while I waited for the siren. Well - no siren came. Instead, I heard the loudest booms I’d heard until that point and my windows started shaking. I have never been so scared in my life. I slammed my laptop shut, grabbed my keys, and ran barefoot to the bomb shelter, seeing and hearing the explosions of interceptions above my head, only realizing when I got there that I was not wearing shoes, and that my heart was in my throat.
Anyone who lives in Israel knows that the mamad is a cultural experience. For me, as a newcomer to the area - who had become used to the Anglo-bubble and a large miklat, the cultural experience was multiplied tenfold. Suddenly, I was squeezed into a tiny room, half the size of my new bedroom, surrounded by dogs, babies, children, and adults, all overtired, overwhelmed, and shouting over each other. (It felt much like your daily commute on the Israeli buses or light rail.)
At some point, the Russian lady (actually British) decided that she wasn’t going to risk her life or her dogs' lives after all and that she’d take them into the tiny mamad - rightfully so. Well, I have never experienced chaos quite like it. Suddenly everyone was shouting at her to get out, the dogs were barking and jumping on everyone, and she was yelling that she had a right to be there. Most people, like myself, completely agreed with her, but others told her that she should go to the bomb shelter further down the road. Understandably, she retorted that she didn’t have enough time to get there with four large dogs, that she could barely make it to this mamad, and that if they were so perturbed, they could go there themselves.
At the end of the day, it is a very tricky and complex situation. Everyone is tense, exhausted, and sleep-deprived. No one knows what is happening and whether they are coming or going. Now, with the restrictions finally lifted, I only hope that life returns to some kind of normality, that we can resume our daily routines, and that I can meet and get to know my neighbors during daylight hours.
I, for one, have never been this excited to return to the office!