It was one of those delightful evenings when the biggest dilemmas revolved around whether to indulge in seconds of strawberry ice cream (yes, please!), if we had time for another round of Go Fish before bedtime (we did!), and which story to read: King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub or Where the Wild Things Are (we ended up enjoying both).
With their hair still damp from the shower and their eyelids starting to droop, the calm was shattered by the sound of wailing sirens.
No, this is not a drill. This is not a drill. This is not a drill.
Living in Israel means that, at times, life is punctuated by the reality of conflict. Just an hour away is a terrorist organization that has spent the last decade targeting our nation. Anyone residing in this land—be they Muslim, Christian, or Jew—is at risk.
What’s astonishing is that, similar to how I learned “STOP, DROP, AND ROLL” as a child growing up in earthquake-prone Los Angeles, my kids instinctively know what to do when the sirens pierce the night. They dart toward their flip-flops conveniently placed by the door—thankfully, for those affordable slip-on shoes! My daughter struggled a bit, so I scooped her up while my son and I raced past the purple scarecrow the kids had built “to keep the rockets away, Mama, so they don’t hurt us while we sleep,” navigating the uneven terrain to the public bomb shelter.
Can you believe we even have a public bomb shelter?
In Israel, bomb shelters are as common as parks. Air raid sirens, the Iron Dome—a defense system that intercepts incoming rockets before they can harm families like ours—bomb shelters, and safe rooms are woven into the fabric of daily life. Thank goodness for that, because just as we were nearing safety, the ground trembled underfoot.
STOP. DROP. AND ROLL? Not this time—just keep running until we’re safe inside.
“Red Alert, Red Alert,” my children sang, “Hurry, hurry, hurry, it’s dangerous! To a safe area!” While I grew up humming “The Wheels on the Bus,” my kids have a catchy tune about what to do during a rocket attack.
“Breathe deep, it’s ok to laugh!” they cheerfully sang as we finally made it into the shelter, joining several other families.
The blast rattled us, and my daughter let out a scream that could rival the most chilling horror movie moment—our true monsters, those rockets, were on the hunt.
Inside the shelter, what could we do but make the best of it? We munched on Pringles and enjoyed chocolate milk, played Go Fish with our neighbors, and offered prayers.
In Judaism, there’s a saying: When the going gets tough, first you cry, then you get angry, and finally, you laugh. With wide smiles and laughter echoing like a remedy for our fears, we embraced the moment.
As news spread on WhatsApp that a rocket had landed just a five-minute walk from where we had been enjoying our ice cream, we skipped straight to laughter, bypassing tears and anger.
There really is no other option.
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Summary
This piece reflects the stark contrast of everyday life and the harsh realities faced by families in Israel, as a mother navigates the joys and fears of parenting amidst the backdrop of conflict. It highlights resilience, the importance of community, and how laughter can serve as a powerful coping mechanism in the face of danger.