Extreme Alert at 3 am

The last time I wrote about waiting for missiles from Iran, we sat and waited. We – citizens and military alike. We were not attacking. We were not active. We were waiting. Like during the First Gulf War in 1991. Not this time.

We, the entire country, were awakened by air raid sirens and a few minutes later by an ear-splitting continuous shriek on our phones.

 EXTREME ALERT!

Now that was new. Apparently, there are alerts and EXTREME alerts.  Like “Look out for that snake! It might be poisonous,” as opposed to “Look out for that viper! Its fangs are at your throat.”

We grabbed our phones and went into our security room, mamad, turned on the TV and saw our planes attacking Iran. No missiles were on their way to Israel. Yet. It was happening. A preemptive attack.

We, including the news anchors, soon realized that we didn’t need to be in the mamad now. We just needed to be awake. Prepared. And to know that our lives were, once again, on hold.

“Get ready for a possible long stay in protected areas” was the message. “Stay close.”

So, we left the mamad and turned on the living room TV. I brushed my teeth, changed clothes, put medicines, chargers, a bucket and toilet paper in the mamad. I made a cup of coffee – not necessarily the smartest move if we’re going to be in the mamad for an extended period of time. I checked our food and water supply that has been in the mamad since the beginning of the war. The original two boxes had slowly been reduced to only one. We had gradually used up perishable items and grabbed bottled water for trips.

I took the last few slices of bread and some pita bread from the freezer. I had ordered hand-made sourdough bread that I was going to pick up in the morning. Not anymore.

So now what? I checked in with my children and grandchildren. My three soldier granddaughters are home for Shabbat. I responded to concerned family in the States.

Feeling prepared and ready, I allowed myself to plop down on the recliner sofa to multitask. I chatted with one of my WhatsApp groups while watching the news. Three am and the prime-time panels were in place around the anchor.

“Everything is canceled until further notice.”  The order of the day is to stay home unless you have an extreme emergency. That includes the funeral tomorrow—today—of a close friend who died Thursday afternoon. I don’t know what happens now to bodies that need a burial. Our friend—well, her family—deserves the eulogies and the support, the Shiva that they will not have now.

WhatsApp chats are comforting and helpful.

“I ran out of peanut butter!”

“I’m almost out of Tums.”

“I put in dried fruit and nuts and pretzels. Thermos of cold water and my pills for tomorrow.”

“My daughter came over with her family and the dog.”

Am I afraid? I don’t know. I’m hungry. It’s 5:13 in the morning and we’ve been up since around 3. I don’t think in terms of fear. It’s more what we are going to miss, as illogical as that may sound.

I worry about people who do not have security rooms in their homes. I think of our friend who has mobility problems who will have to go down five flights to their bomb shelter. I’m sure they’ll opt for the stairwell. Not as safe, but doable. I think of those who must run to shelters a distance away. I think of those who live in more remote, undeveloped areas who have no protection. I think of my mother-in-law in 1973 who ran with my infant daughter down the street to the bomb shelter. I think: It’s 2025 and we shouldn’t still be running to bomb shelters. I know Iran’s leaders and its nuclear capabilities must be destroyed.

I think: It’s 2025 and we shouldn’t still be running to bomb shelters. I know Iran’s leaders and its nuclear capabilities must be destroyed.

Excuse me for now. I have to go check on the hard-boiled eggs bubbling on the stovetop. I’m thinking of going back to bed but it’s like falling back to sleep when the snooze alarm is on, and you don’t know exactly when it’s going to scream at you to wake up. But the sun is up. Time for bed.

Galia Miller Sprung moved to Israel from Southern California in 1970 to become a pioneer farmer and today she is a writer and editor.