“I just got my bagel, and then the alarm went off,” said an older, observant American man, looking slightly bewildered, as he sat down in a public Jerusalem bomb shelter just off Keren Hakeyemet Le-Yisrael Street.
As Iran carried out its second missile attack in Israel this year, this shelter, which is in the heart of a community filled up with religious Americans, mostly elderly residents of the capital or much younger students on their gap year, quickly filled up. Other groups represented in this cross-section of humanity brought together by the circumstance of being targeted by the Islamic Republic of Iran included the staff of the many popular eateries in the area, as well as families with young children who had been down the street at a large playground. As soon as the alerts from the Home Front Command app went off at 7:29 p.m. after hours of warnings, they all headed for the shelter.
For most, the app rattling was the first sign that something was up. Most made it the shelter before the siren sounded. Even down a long flight of the stairs in the shelter, booms were felt and heard outside. Many booms. Many, many.
A friend of the interrupted diner commiserated with him over being interrupted just as he was about to enjoy a pre-holiday meal of a bagel and lox at the popular Bagel Café just down the street.
“It’ll be right there when you get back,” said the friend. “We only have to wait 10 minutes.”
The bagel man nodded, appeased.
Unwelcome news
I hated to be the bearer of bad news, but I felt compelled to explain that while a 10-minute wait was usually indicated, the Home Front Command explicitly stated this time that everyone should, all over the country, should stay in the protected spaces until further notice. Whenever that would be.
This wasn’t welcome news – for anyone.
“I guess if it’s a long time, they’ll give me a new bagel,” the man said.
“It’s pretty cool out,” said his friend. “It might be OK.”
A cook from a burger joint, a Mizrahi woman who had brought a bottle of water and cups and was sharing them around, was more upbeat about the situation.
“As soon as this is over, that’s it, we all can go home,” she said. “Shift’s over.” Some of the young waitstaff, who were just about to have their cigarette break, joked about wanting to go outside and sneak a cigarette, and they were just about to do so when a fresh round of booms sent them hurrying back down the stairs.
A frail, elderly woman who had to leave her walker at the top of the stairs and who was helped downstairs by a young guy who looked like a weightlifter asked how everyone knew to go to the shelter even before the sirens sounded. The nicotine addicts tried to explain the concept of an app to her.
As the minutes passed, the children ran around – there was ample room in the shelter – getting restless, but the only one who really broke down was an American teenage girl, who burst into tears with each barrage, and was hugged by her girlfriends.
The crowd kept instinctively trying to get information from their phones and send messages, which was impossible in the shelter, which had no reception, and the most popular guy was a prescient gentleman who had packed a backpack with the essentials – which included a battery-operated transistor radio. The news came in loud and clear.
There were disturbing details of the terror attack in Jaffa, along with the news that Iran had fired nearly 200 missiles and Israelis were not to leave their shelters or safe rooms yet.
The newscasters said the same things in different words for the better part of an hour and finally the word came through, via a sound on the Home Front app I never heard before, as well as an announcement on the news. The news was good about the Iranian attack – only one casualty was recorded.
Back in the world of wi-fi, I called my family and didn’t notice what happened to the man and his bagel. When I passed the café, the waitresses were closing up. I hope the hungry guy at least got his bagel to go.