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Not A Drill: Motherhood in Israel
It was one of those evenings when the biggest debates we had were about whether to have seconds on strawberry ice cream (we did), if we could squeeze in another round of Go Fish before bedtime (we managed), and which story to read, King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub or Where the Wild Things Are (we chose both).
Their hair was still damp from the shower, and their eyelids were starting to droop when the siren blared.
No, this isn’t a drill. This is not a drill. This is not a drill.
We live in Israel, and right now, our country is grappling with a terrorist group just an hour’s drive away, a group that has been launching rockets at us for the last decade. Anyone here—Muslim, Christian, or Jew—is a potential target.
And here’s the wild part: just as I learned to stop, drop, and roll growing up in earthquake-prone LA, my kids know exactly what to do when the sirens ring out. They hurried to their flip-flops by the door—thank goodness for those easy slip-ons. My daughter struggled a bit, so I scooped her up while my son and I dashed past the purple scarecrow they built “to keep the rockets away, Mama, so they don’t hurt us when we sleep,” across the uneven ground to a public bomb shelter.
Can we pause for a moment? We have a public bomb shelter. Just like everyone else in Israel.
Air raid sirens, the Iron Dome (which intercepts rockets mid-air), bomb shelters, and safe rooms are woven into the fabric of life here. And thank goodness for that, because just before we made it to the shelter, the ground shook. Like, actually shook.
STOP. DROP. AND ROLL.
Nope, we just kept running until we were safely inside.
“Red Alert, Red Alert,” my kids sang. “Hurry hurry hurry because now it’s dangerous. Hurry hurry hurry, to a safe area.”
While I grew up singing “The Wheels on the Bus,” my kids have a song for rocket attacks.
“Breathe deep, it’s okay to laugh!” they chimed as we settled in with other families inside the shelter.
We felt the blast, and my daughter let out a scream—the kind you hear in horror movies when the monster comes out from under the bed—because those rockets are our monsters, aiming for a direct hit.
So, what do we do inside the shelter?
We munched on Pringles and chocolate milk, played Go Fish with our neighbors, and sent up prayers.
In Judaism, there’s a saying: when things get intense, first you cry, then you get mad, and finally, you laugh. With wide-open mouths, we laughed as our bodies trembled.
When the news came through WhatsApp that a rocket had landed less than a five-minute walk from where we were just enjoying strawberry ice cream, we skipped the tears, bypassed the anger, and went straight for laughter.
Really, what other choice do we have?
If you’re interested in more about family life and the challenges of motherhood, check out this insightful piece at this blog post. For conversations on fertility, Make A Mom is a great resource. And if you’re looking for more information on pregnancy and home insemination, Rmany has excellent content.
Summary
In Israel, where the threat of rocket attacks is a part of daily life, a mother recounts an evening that quickly shifted from playful family moments to rushing for safety during an air raid siren. Despite the fear, she finds moments of laughter and connection with her children and neighbors in the bomb shelter, illustrating resilience in the face of danger.