It was one of those evenings where the most pressing issues revolved around whether to indulge in seconds of strawberry ice cream (we did), if we could sneak in another round of Go Fish before bedtime (we could), and which story to read—King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub or Where the Wild Things Are (we chose both).
Their hair still damp from the shower, their eyelids beginning to droop, when suddenly the siren howled.
No, this is not a drill. This is not a drill. This is not a drill.
We reside in Israel, a nation currently at war with a terrorist group just an hour away—an organization intent on our destruction, launching rockets at us for the past decade. Anyone in this land—be they Muslim, Christian, or Jew—stands as a potential target.
What’s astonishing? Just as I was taught to “STOP, DROP, AND ROLL” growing up in earthquake-prone Los Angeles, my children instinctively know what to do when the sirens pierce the night. They dash to the door, where their flip flops are neatly lined up—thank goodness for inexpensive slip-ons. My daughter struggled to put hers on, so I scooped her up while my son and I raced past the purple scarecrow they built, proclaiming it would “keep the rockets away, Mama, so they don’t get us in our sleep,” across the uneven ground to a public bomb shelter.
Yes, you read that correctly—a public bomb shelter.
Like every other family in Israel, we have access to these shelters. Air raid warnings, the Iron Dome—a defense system designed to intercept rockets mid-flight, bomb shelters, and secure rooms are woven into the fabric of daily life here. Thank heavens for these resources; just as we reached the shelter, the ground beneath us trembled.
STOP. DROP. AND ROLL? No, we keep running until we’re safely inside.
“Red Alert, Red Alert,” my children sang. “Hurry hurry hurry because now it’s dangerous. Hurry hurry hurry, to a safe area.” So while I grew up with “The Wheels on the Bus,” my children are familiar with a song about how to react during a rocket attack.
“Breathe deep, it’s ok to laugh!” they chimed as we entered the shelter alongside other families.
We felt the jolt from the blast, and my daughter let out a scream—a primal sound reminiscent of horror films where the monster lurks beneath the bed, or when a terrifying clown emerges from the shadows. These rockets are our real-life monsters, aiming for a direct hit.
Inside the shelter, what’s left to do?
We enjoyed Pringles and chocolate milk, played Go Fish with neighbors, and offered prayers. In our Jewish tradition, we have a saying: When life gets tough, the first response is to cry. Then comes anger, and finally, laughter. With wide-open mouths and exposed teeth, we laugh as our bodies shake from the stress.
When news came via WhatsApp that a rocket had landed just a five-minute walk from where we had been savoring strawberry ice cream moments before, we skipped the tears, bypassed the anger, and went straight to laughter.
In the end, what other choice do we have?
This article was originally published on July 23, 2014.
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Summary
This article reflects on the duality of motherhood in Israel, where mundane family moments can quickly shift to life-threatening situations due to ongoing conflict. It captures the resilience of parents and children as they navigate daily life amidst danger, utilizing humor and community support to cope with their reality.