Miklat Makeover – Shelter in Place

What if the thing that is supposed to keep you safe is a clear and present danger?

When we purchased our apartment in Jerusalem almost 10 years ago, I do not recall asking about a bomb shelter. We were concerned about the storage unit, and had endless questions about electricity, gas, taxes, furniture and the demographic make-up of the neighborhood.

We come and go, twice a year, sometimes three. Our longest stays are during the summers. Last October while we were here for Succot, we decided to check out the shelter on the ground floor of our small building.

My husband obtained a copy of the key from our vaad habayit. The door was secured with heavy chain and padlock. What’s the protocol? The person who gets there first would open it up, logically. But that surely wouldn’t be us. We don’t know nothin’ ‘bout birthin’ no shelters…or something along those lines.

But here we now, having arrived earlier than usual, a few days before 6/13. The shelter is already unlocked, we have learned that the door can be secured from both sides, there are light switches and an assortment of mismatched chairs. We have contributed three more. We have regularly been the first ones in.

The room is spacious — or rather it could be if the custodian had not been given free-rein to fill it up. The debate among the residents is how much of the stuff is legitimate material and tools, and how much are things of a different sort. We’ve been eyeballing his collection, and the space in general. It is definitely dirty. He cleaned up somewhat last week, but not enough. It seems like this is how it will remain; that’s ok as long as it protects us.

We chose this neighborhood for many reasons. It is quiet, clean, mixed, and until recently, off the radar. It is also the closest neighborhood to my in-laws — Bubby and Zayda. Their neighborhood is everything we don’t like. My mother-in-law doesn’t like aspects of it either, but they chose it because they moved to Israel to be near their other son and his family. So, in that sense, it works for them. They have been here 20 years and have a network of family support and friendly neighbors.

What they don’t have is a shelter. While there is a dedicated room marked Miklat in the building, it is at best user-unfriendly and at worst, user-unsafe. We checked it out yesterday. The room has been mostly emptied of the detritus of the residents, but not completely. The space is cramped — way too small to accommodate the number of people who might need it. These are large families living in buildings not intended to house so many people, and accessing the shelter is perilous. The first step into the narrow outside stairwell is raised up a few inches. By intention, or poor construction or some misguided renovation, it is a trip hazard. There aren’t any handrails.

There are five steps down, then a sharp turn, another 10 steps, and the secure door. The door cannot open fully because it is blocked by the things that were recently removed from the interior, to make room for the people. They were technically removed, but are now sitting outside, partially blocking the door from fully swinging open.

Sheltering in place just means staying where you are. The government has put out instructions to the elderly, to remain at home if they cannot safely access a shelter. This is the case with my in-laws. My mother-in-law is 90 years old. She cannot navigate in the dark, in a hurry, over broken concrete and jagged slate tiles. She cannot descend into this dark cave alone.

But she has made up her mind that she isn’t going anyway, because her husband, my father-in-law, is not mobile. And she will not leave him. And she will not move away from her son.