Father’s Day Under Missile Strikes

Growing up, Father’s Day had a special energy. We woke up early, got breakfast together, wrapped a present or two and placed streamers and posters around the house. Then, we quietly walked into our parents’ room around 8:00 a.m. to “surprise” our dad. 

When my wife got pregnant, I imagined one day experiencing the same excitement I saw on my dad’s face all those years—a smile filled with gratitude for having a healthy and happy family. 

Waking up on Father’s Day 2025, my second since becoming a parent, I had hoped to continue those traditions — except instead, I woke up at 2:18 a.m. to my phone blaring a red alert. It warned us to “stay next to a protected space in your area” since my location was likely to be bombed by ballistic missiles in the coming minutes. 

I needed to make a decision. Our apartment does not contain a bomb shelter. We have one for the entire building floor just outside our apartment. This means I could preemptively wake up my 22-month-old son and wife to move us all to safety, or let them sleep in hopes of the missile skipping past Tel Aviv. 

The answer should have been simple: move your family to safety. Yet, this was night three of constant bombardment. We were all exhausted. Waking my son up when he could be sleeping meant further exhaustion for him — not a great recipe for having a happy or healthy toddler. So I decided to let them rest, knowing that if a rocket gets close, the red alert system will warn me.

Then it happened. At 2:30 a.m., the red alert went off: “In the next few minutes, alerts are expected in your area. You need to find a better location that will provide the best protection.” This heightened my senses, and I prepared for the situation, but did not wake my son — he was so tired. We spent the previous night in and out of the bomb shelter.

The siren blared. 2:36 a.m.: “Rocket and missile fire in your area, time of arrival to the protected room — one-and-a-half minutes.” I got my wife, who by now was awake from multiple pre-warnings. She grabbed a bottle of milk and opened our apartment door. I grabbed my son from his crib, covered his eyes so the light did not wake him, and walked carefully to the bomb shelter.

We spent over 40 minutes in the bomb shelter as ballistic missiles rained down across the country, creating immense damage in civilian areas, injuring and killing civilians, including children and the elderly. Lying in my arms for those 40 minutes, my son eventually woke up. He is startled, not recognizing his surroundings, but thankfully is easily soothed. This has become routine. My son is 22 months old, to be exact, 680 days old. Disturbingly, yet unsurprisingly, he remains relatively calm in the bomb shelter. Why? Because 619 days out of the 680 days of his life, we have been at war. For 91% of his life, he has lived in a war zone where civilians are targeted, where tomorrow is not guaranteed. 

He is resilient, more than he can understand now, more than he will likely ever understand.

He woke up smiling on Sunday morning, and I hugged him tight, knowing it was a privilege. The overnight barbaric missile strike from Iran left many casualties. I am sure many fathers woke up to the news that their children had been killed or hurt, and many children woke up to the same news about their fathers. They didn’t get to smile at each other on this Father’s Day morning. 

I understand now why my dad was always so grateful to see a smile on our faces. Health and happiness should never be taken for granted. That’s why my Father’s Day present –  my son’s smile and laughter – is everything I could have asked for and more.

Kyle Blank is the Executive Director of IsraelFriends.org, a global network that solves real-world problems for those defending the Jewish state. He and his family live in Tel Aviv.