Living with the Sirens

23.10.2024

What do you do when a siren sounds? Well, that depends on a number of factors, including where you are.

Where we live, in Netanya, for example, we have 90 seconds to get to our mamad (protected room) which, like in many houses, also doubles as a bedroom.

Once inside, we shut the heavy iron door and pulled the iron curtain across the window. Then we wait for 10 minutes, listening to what we fervently hope are booms of the Iron Dome intercepting the rockets above, and not direct hits on nearby buildings or roads.

Although we have one and a half minutes, we don’t use that time to make a cuppa, but instead, gather up the dogs and head straight for the mamad.

Those living further north in Haifa, which is closer to Lebanon and has suffered extensive missile and rocket barrages, have only one minute, whereas residents of Sderot in the south, just a few kilometres from Gaza, have a mere 15 seconds to reach safety.

Some apartments do not have a mamad, in which case residents head to the communal shelter or the stairwell for protection.

If you’re not home when the siren sounds, different rules apply to different situations. If you’re near a building, for example, you must seek shelter inside it.

If you’re not — let’s say you’re driving along a main road or even a motorway — you must stop the car, get out, lie on the ground, and protect your head with your hands.

Last week, I had the misfortune to experience three sirens in one day. I say misfortune, although, by comparison, I’m lucky.

Many Israelis have lost their homes in the ongoing rocket and missile attacks, while others have been forced from theirs, such is the danger posed by staying. Three sirens in one day is nothing compared to that.

The first happened in the morning, when I was alone at home, recuperating from my operation.

Before the siren even sounded, I received several alerts on my phone warning me that an attack was imminent.

At first, I didn’t realise what was happening. Within seconds, the noise of the siren filled the air and I was in no doubt. Once I’d rounded up the dogs, we made our way into the mamad and slammed the door shut. Thankfully, the iron curtain was already closed.

While the dogs stood by the door, anxiously waiting to leave, I began my ring around. First, Jeff who’d been out shopping with Orli.

“Are you ok?”

“Erm. I’m lying in a bush by the side of the road with Orli . . . so not really.”

Then I heard booms, followed by Orli’s scared voice.

Having assured me that they were fine, Jeff said he’d call me when they were on the way home.

Next on the list was Lev who was at the country club. He calmly told me that all was well —everyone went into the mamad when the siren sounded and they were all now back in the gym.

No biggie, he said.

With that, I ventured out of there and things went back to normal. Until later in the day.

With it being just a few days after my operation, I was still not up to walking very far. No more than half an hour at a stretch which took me to my local coffee shop and back.

The weather at this time of year is perfect, meaning you can go for a walk at any time of the day, unlike in summer when it’s impossible to do anything outdoorsy between 8am and 8pm.

We headed out late afternoon with the dogs in tow, making our way along our usual route. As we approached the grassy area where the dogs like to play, the siren sounded again.

I immediately fell to the floor, while Jeff sat on a small boulder, despite my protestations that he ought to lie down next to me. The dogs thought it was a game.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted an infirm, elderly man in a wheelchair with his carer sitting beside him on a bench. I wondered what they would do. I also spotted a young boy sitting on the opposite bench, by the bin.

After a few seconds, the carer stood up, bending his body over the wheelchair in an effort to protect his charge, while the boy lay on the ground by the bin, with his hands covering his head.

Then everything went silent, save for the booms overhead, as rockets from Lebanon were taken out by Iron Dome.

When we got up, faint trails in the sky could still be seen.

And then it happened again. No sooner had we taken a few steps, than the siren started up for the third time that day.

This time, however, I didn’t look before throwing myself to the ground and landed on a pile of dog poo.

Thankfully, no one was injured in that particular rocket barrage, although Jeff came pretty close when he burst out laughing as I got to my knees and announced my misfortune.

On a serious note, many others have not been so lucky, both before and since that day a week ago.

Sadly, thousands of Israelis are still not back in their homes, instead living as refugees in their own land. The sirens also sound in many towns and cities on a regular basis as the war grinds on, causing misery and mayhem.

Despite this, the country never grinds to a halt. Instead, we all carry on with our lives, not allowing ourselves to be beaten by our enemies.