Missile Missives

As sleep becomes ever more elusive and the windows and doors of my old and structurally challenged apartment rattle each time a missile is intercepted (or god forbid lands), I’ve decided to do the sensible thing and spend my nights in the municipal shelter. Especially since we are being told (or is it only on the Arab radio station?) that tonight’s barrage will be particularly dramatic –a sampling of Iran’s (and China’s?) state-of-the art missile collection.

My partner refuses to budge. He sleeps like a baby through the sirens, interceptions and booms, whilst I cower in the (windowless, as instructed) bathroom with cat and (expired) UK passport in hand.

I tried to reach the shelter last night, shortly after midnight when the alert sounded, but by the time I’d swept up the cat and put on my shoes, locked the door and headed down the road, it was too late. The booms were booming and a policeman told me to return home.

Some of my friends are overseas. Most are desperate to return. That brings tears to my eyes. I’ve become sentimental since Oct 7th. People here feel so strongly about their country, or rather our country. I can’t imagine people feeling like that about the UK.

A friend from the EU came by just now. She told me they are being offered flights back to their member states. Most are packing up and going. My friend, a German national who, as senior management is considered ‘essential staff’, has to stay. She said she wouldn’t leave anyway. That made me cry too.

On Thursday night I went to a Balkan music concert at a local venue that attracts audiences of all faiths (and no faith), ages and cultures, located on the seam between east and west Jerusalem, a former no man’s land that has superlative views of the Old City and across the valley to Jordan. As the concert was drawing to a close I took my drink outside and sat on a bench facing the mosques and churches dotting the landscape. The stars were as bright as the missiles are now. It already feels like another era.