Tonight we experienced our first siren and our first rocket attack. Day 3 in Israel and I found myself crouched down protecting my child’s head.
I actually wasn’t too freaked out by the sirens… I was prepared for those.
But nothing could have prepared me to hear the actual rockets being intercepted by the Iron Dome above us.
Holy shit.
I’ve never actually heard a rocket being thrown in my direction. Obviously.
But here in Israel, it is part of life.
From what I’ve heard, some Israelis immediately seek a bomb shelter while others don’t even stop what they’re doing.
I’m sure there are many things they do in-between.
As for me, I was in the middle of receiving treatment from a family member who does Chiropractic and Holistic Healing. Shout out to Dr. Tovah. I went there to release the tension my body was holding from travel and a massive transition.
But of course, I ended up leaving more tense.
I was literally on the table getting treated when the sirens went off.
We heard them outside, on our phones, and even my watch buzzed.
When I got off the airplane in Tel Aviv 3 days earlier, the first thing the taxi driver had me do was download two apps – one called Home Front Command and the other Red Alert. These apps let you know when rockets are heading your way.
You get 90 seconds to take cover and you stay there for ten minutes.
Tovah had moved into her new apartment 2 weeks earlier and this was her first siren since moving in. Most apartments have built-in bomb shelters but hers didn’t. Her landlord gave her access to one in a different unit but with only 90 seconds to get to one, it’s safer to take cover where you are.
“Ok. Here we go.” She said
I got up off the table, grabbed Rafi who was in the other room playing with his toys, and followed her to sit under a big staircase.
While I fully understood that I was moving to a warzone, I was so grateful not to have my first “living in war” experience by myself.
The three of us sat under the staircase and I covered Rafi’s head with my upper body. I kissed his head and started explaining to him in a calm voice what was happening.
“Sometimes when you live in Israel, there are sirens. These sirens let us know that the bad guys are throwing rockets at us. But we don’t need to be scared because Israel has something amazing called the Iron Dome.”
“Yeah,” Tovah jumped in, “the Iron Dome catches the rocket and eats it right there on the spot and zaps it!”
Rafi giggled, “that’s so cool.”
I asked him if he felt scared and he shook his head no. I could tell from his facial expression and body language that he was telling the truth.
If ever there was a “his energy will match my energy” type of moment, this was it.
Tovah and I were discussing what was going on but being very conscious to use calm tones and not say anything too scary.
She checked in with my sister-in-law, her daughter, who said that she was safe. My brother was on a train coming home from Tel-Aviv. The train stopped for those ten minutes. We got word that the train started moving again.
After ten minutes, we emerged from under the staircase and went back to what we were doing. Tovah finished treating me, Rafi kept playing, and the whole town moved on with their lives.
It’s been a couple hours and I am now back at our apartment reflecting. My body is coming down from fight or flight. We have a bomb shelter built in here – it’s actually Rafi’s bedroom, so I feel calm. I think.
I checked in with my parents and assured them that we are ok.
I think about how many times my brother has gone through this without me knowing it.
I think about all the opinions all over the world about Israel – most from people who have never experienced anything like this and really don’t know what they’re talking about.
I think about my dad fighting two Israeli wars when he was younger and what he must have gone through.
I think about the resiliency of the Israeli people. The pain, the faith, the getting used to.
And most of all, I think of Rafi and what it will be like for him to grow up here. My hunch is that he will become even more resilient, as Israeli kids do.
You might be wondering if I am second guessing my decision to move to Israel after this experience.
The answer is no.
I knew full well the risk I was taking.
I trust the IDF and God.
I trust that we are supposed to be going through this experience or we wouldn’t be here.
I trust that the pros outweigh the risk.
I trust my inner intuition.
It’s been a couple days since the rocket attack and I wanted to come in here and finish this blog from a more reflective place.
I’ve noticed that no one is really talking about it. I spoke with my brother the next day on the phone. I told him where I was when it happened.
His response? “Oh yeah, your first one! How was it?”
He wasn’t trying to be funny. He just legit didn’t realize until that moment that it was my first one. He was used to it. And so is everyone else.
But my more intimate observation in the last couple of days is that Rafi has been THINKING about it while I have been FEELING it.
What I mean by that is that he has been talking about it (mind you, as if he’s Buzz Lightyear and the rockets are the coolest thing ever besides the Iron Dome).
But he hasn’t been feeling it.
I know my son. His nervous system wasn’t rattled by it. I give credit to myself and Tovah as we both knew he would take our cue. So we stayed calm, controlling what we could and giving the rest to God.
When we were at his school yesterday, Rafi was telling the teachers all about it – talking about how cool the Iron Dome is and pretending to shoot down rockets with his imaginary laser.
Meanwhile, I’ve barely been thinking about the episode. But my body has been feeling it.
I didn’t sleep well that night and it took me about 24 hours to get back to my anxiety-free self.
(side note: I have not always been anxiety-free but daily prayer and breath work will change your life)
The body keeps the score. I may not have been recounting the event but I was experiencing the upheaval in my general sense of wellbeing and safety. Meanwhile, Rafi was not. Thank God.
I think about the Israeli parents who have older kids. You can’t tell them stories about bad guys and cool space rockets.
You have to be real with them. You have to tell them that there are seven neighboring countries who want us dead. Seven. And they’re all attacking us.
Try telling that to your older kid. Try answering their questions.
I guess that will be me in a few years. This war will be over by then but let’s keep it real – history repeats itself.
When that day comes, I’ll invite God into that conversation and trust that the right words will come out of my mouth.
Until then, I’ll thoroughly enjoy having a five-year old who is unscathed by war.
Elana's Aliyah Blog 
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