I landed in Israel on Friday in the early afternoon, and at passport control, I was asked whether I was aware of the situation with Iran and whether I really wanted to enter. I said I knew it was tense, and looking back, I wonder how much the passport officer actually knew about what was going to happen – my thought was that action was a week or two away. Nevertheless, I lacked an immediate flight back, so I proceeded in. I was met outside immigration & customs by my friend, and we drove to his condo in Jerusalem. Most of their children were away at school, and most were over 18.
Philosophically, I remembered a line from the Sci-Fi miniseries Dune, where Liet Kynes (the planetologist in service of the Emperor) said, “When G-d ordains a man’s time to die, He directs him to the proper place.” If it’s my time, it’s my time.
The next morning, Shabbat, we were walking to the Kotel (Western Wall) when we heard the first siren and sought shelter. We heard several thunderous BOOMS, and it looked like one interception cloud was visible – and pretty low above the city, too; I was very surprised at my lack of fear. Yes, I was nervous, but not frightened. After a few minutes, another alert, and we went into a different shelter, where everyone was very friendly, with all taking this in stride. One man was here from New Jersey for his daughter’s wedding.
After several minutes, we continued on only to learn that the Kotel was closed, but there’s an extension of the wall called “The Little Kotel” where we prayed, and I put two notes from people at work into the wall as promised. One task fulfilled. Ironically, I had not written a note for myself, but being Shabbat, I could not write one. I said multiple prayers, including one in memory of my parents, grandparents, and a couple of Jewish friends of mine who have passed. Remembering my parents and grandmother, particularly, brought some tears. When I get home, I need to tell my high school best friend’s widow that I prayed for him at the wall.
We went back to his apartment, where, later in the afternoon, the alarms sounded again. At the airport, I’d switched SIM cards to an Israeli one (there was a store at the airport), and now I get the official notifications, and they sound on my phone before the sirens! Down to the shelter (picture) that’s in the basement of his building. This happened several times, e.g., about 2 AM, and then at 6 AM. Again, around 9:30, just as breakfast was cooked. Each time, everyone from the building came down, as well as people from surrounding buildings, as that’s the street’s shelter. People were very friendly and good-spirited.
That was part of something that surprised me – both in the shelter and out in the streets, there was an incredible sense of community and family. Strangers greeted each other, talked, and the few conversations I had felt spontaneous and genuine.
Most of my friends’ children had been sent home from school, plus two of their friends are here as well, so it’s a full house. A house that, again at 12:30ish, ran to the shelter again.
My friend took me to Synagogue – the one he attends, as they are on most streets in the city, where, just as we walked up, another missile alarm sounded. We’d also gone last night, and after formal prayers, we danced in a ring in the street. A strange thought, considering everyone here is a target.
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On Sunday, we went to Synagogue again, the same one, and just as the service was starting, the sirens started, so we moved into the shelter below. Almost every street has at least one official shelter, and for big buildings, each has its own shelter. People were talking, and the children were already dressed up for Purim; very coincidentally, Purim is a holiday where Haman wanted to destroy all the Jews – just as Iran wants to – and it’s a celebration of survival and victory. Kids were dancing and playing in the shelter as candy and treats were handed out.
After lunch, we went to the main Jerusalem market, called a shuk, where about 50% of the stores were open. Again, it felt like most people knew each other, or even in passing were friendly. There was, continuing, a real sense of not just people living in the same space, but sharing a community and culture.
There were many people of many races, there were white Jews, black Jews, Indian Jews, Hispanic Jews, and Asian Jews. All bound by a common culture – something we used to have in New Hampshire, but has passed with our own “Massing up New Hampshire” and migrants from other states coming in. It was, if you’ll permit, a small-town community feeling in a very big city.
I also got interviewed for a few minutes by an internet-based news program.
In the afternoon, we went into Judea and Samaria to pick up baskets for Purim, which we will deliver to soldiers tomorrow.
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I miss my kids. I miss my home, for the Granite State is my home (despite being a Massachusetts import myself). Despite several invitations to move to Israel, I can’t. But at the same time, to some degree, I feel as at-home here as well as in New Hampshire.
My main concern now is the ability to fly back. I am hopeful that things will be resolved soon – at least enough for airlines to resume operations. As far as I know, there hasn’t been an alert for quite a few hours, so with luck, the Iranian missile capability has been degraded enough that I can leave roughly on schedule.
I’m sure I’ll do another write-up, but I hope you’ve enjoyed this one.
Update:
1. The Kotel was apparently closed because an actual bomb was discovered. Not good.
2. Latest missile attack hit Jerusalem itself. Casualties but no other news at this moment.
