Extreme Alert at 8 am

Coffee! I had to get coffee— before the second alert. The one that means: NOW enter your protected space. Then: Brush teeth, wet curly and unruly hair. Crunch it up and hope for the best. Clothes come last. Plenty in the safe room.

As beans were pressurized into the all-important caffeine boost, I had time to respond to messages. My brother in California. My cousin near Chicago. A couple we met almost two years ago on a cruise. My husband was already in the mamad, saferoom, watching the reports of ballistic missiles headed to Israel. But we didn’t care:

The United States had bombed Iran’s nuclear sites!

This is the moment we had been waiting for. Not only would Iran’s nuclear capabilities be destroyed, but we’d be free of endless debates among experts on TV panels: Will the U.S. bomb Iran? When?

My theory has always been: When it happens, we’ll know. Nothing anyone says will clarify the timing.

Coffee in hand, I entered the mamad and my husband pulled the steel door shut and forced the lever into position. Protection.

It’s been nine days since I wrote about extreme alerts at 3 a.m., since we again stayed near shelters, and since we started to hope that today would come.

I texted one of my soldier granddaughters, hoping she hadn’t left yet for her base in the south: no protection on the roads. She hadn’t. She was in the mamad with her younger sister, who returns to her base only on Monday, and their high-school-aged brother.  I knew their cousin was on her base—not traveling. To reassure me, they sent a picture from the mamad, family dog included. Their parents are stranded in Europe along with 150,000 other Israelis trying desperately to return.

And yes, despite the destruction suffered in some of our cities by missiles that evaded our attempts at interception, we are relieved. My social media groups, which are distinguished by political considerations: one allows political discussions, one forbids it, and another is for like-minded friends. But this morning, all are united in celebration and in gratitude.

Many of us are former Americans with family in the States from far left to, let’s say, center-right. We wonder: Are they as united this morning as we are?

When we are released from the saferoom, I eat eggs, lox and leeks and pita bread. Sounds right. A bit of my American upbringing and my Israeli life. All together in one pan. Like today’s action against Iran.

Stand-up routines, memes and clips from old movies that make fun of our situation, our politicians, our enemies, ourselves fill social media. These posts keep us laughing and somewhat sane. Who has time to come up with all these?

In between passing along these soul-savers to my social media, I respond to relatives, friends, classmates from nursery school through university, who reach out to us. Some I hear from only in wartime, but in Israel, well, that’s often and appreciated. Yes, staying home is safer, but confining. The treadmill helps. Since the attack last week, my speed has been slower. Today when the reactors exploded, I felt lighter. Refreshed. I added half a mile in the same amount of time. Burned more calories.

Later, kids from our community delivered homemade cookies to the vatikim, seniors. I probably didn’t burn enough calories for the chocolate chip cookies, but this is war.

Yes, we’re euphoric today, but also saddened. With the good is always the bad to keep us grounded. The bodies of three victims of October 7 were brought back to Israel in a military operation. Gaza is not forgotten. Now, hopefully, without the tentacles of the Ayatollahs to fund Hamas, we’ll have a better chance of bringing all of our hostages home.

America is waking up. I’m going to get a cup of coffee—or maybe I should make that a glass of wine— check my social media, laugh at some new jokes and listen to panels debate a future they can’t control.

Thank you, America, for taking action. For doing what had to be done.

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