Taking Refuge on P1

This morning I shouldn’t have had to hide in a parking garage when Iran’s biggest salvo of missiles to date rained down on Israel. I had forgotten a crucial piece of information that was available to me. It was not a senior moment. I think.

You see, my exercise center was supposed to be open for the first time since hostilities between Israel and Iran began on Friday the thirteenth. An early rising creature of habit, I was programmed to show up there between 6:30-7:00 am. The gym, however, had announced that it would open at 8:00. I didn’t record the proper time on my June calendar. 

I should have been home, waiting out the air raid with my wife in the comfort of our apartment’s reinforced safe room, but, well…. My bad.  (For the record, our cat Jem eschews our safe room, preferring to scurry under the bed in our unprotected bedroom.) 

Judith thought I might be on a long bike ride.  Or, perhaps I had gone to shoot buckets at the basketball court a 20-minute walk from home.  I had assumed she knew that today I was headed for the gym, which is a few blocks away. (Possible senior moment for her?)

Typically, when I go work out I don’t carry my smartphone. So Judith couldn’t contact me.

After finding the gym closed, I stopped at a shady playground, the perfect place to do squats, leg lifts,  burpees, cat, and cow. Without my phone, I wasn’t aware that an alert had just gone out from the homeland command.

The government has adopted a two-stage air-raid protocol.  First, they blare an advanced warning on our phones, telling us to be prepared to take cover in a safe place. Second, outdoor air-raid sirens scream, directing people to shelters ASAP.

Fortunately, a gentleman passing through the playground interrupted my sit-ups to inform me that an advanced warning had just gone out. That’s how I wound up on P1, the first subterranean floor of the parking garage two blocks from my home.

I have no graphic pictures to share here. To those who hunger for images of the hospital in Be’er Sheva that sustained a direct hit, while I did wall push-ups on  P1, you must search elsewhere. 

Once I completed my exercises, I walked around P1 to cool down. I counted perhaps 100 people (senior citizens to children in strollers) and 15 dogs. There were two lower floors with scores more. I didn’t finish counting them, because I was interrupted by a friend who lives in the area. 

She looked frazzled. Beyond feeling dehydrated, she was worried about her son who had elected to take refuge in their apartment building’s basement, rather than go with her to the underground garage. (I demurred from comparing him to our cat.)

 I met my friend on P2. Or was it P3? This was not a senior moment. I was distracted by the sounds of bombs exploding above us.

By now, I trust that my community beyond Israel understands that everything coming out of the war, from all sides, is some form of propaganda. Whether the source is the government, the military, the professional media, or social media (like this blog post), each has its own angle on the crisis. With my background in journalism, I believe that some sources are more reliable than others. Some of those “others” purvey total bullshit, but that’s a subject for a different post, as is the war in Gaza.

Suffice it to say that I believe the Israel-Hamas war must end now so that the remaining hostages, alive and dead, can return home. Israel must not let anything distract it from honing in on Iran.

It would be comforting to hear Israel’s critics the world over acknowledge that this new war is a necessary one. If it weren’t for Iran, would Hamas have had the will to invade Southern Israel on October 7. Would Hezbollah have joined the fray soon after?

Surely Israel’s critics condemn Iran for targeting a hospital this morning. Am I having a senior moment in writing that?  Or am I flat out delusional? (These are rhetorical questions.)

When I got home, Judith told me that, in addition to worrying about me during the air raid, she felt anxious about the jets buzzing and bombs exploding overhead. They felt as close and threatening as they did at 4:00 am a few days ago. 

We both agree that this war represents a shift in Israel. The border communities of the north and south are no longer the country’s most likely targets of Hezbollah and Hamas rockets. The Iranians, with their more precise ballistic missiles, are aiming at my city, Tel Aviv, our country’s densely populated heart.

Meanwhile, my wife and I are alive, kicking, and aging as gracefully as possible. We enjoy the view from our balcony of a construction site that will eventually become a modern housing complex for hundreds.  

Construction Continues (photo by Marc Kornblatt)

Our flowers are thriving, thanks to an automatic sprinkling system. And when Jem shakes off her anxiety and emerges from under our bed, she can be a lot of fun.

Jem venturing beyond the bedroom (photo by Marc Kornblatt)

As the war goes on, our lives go on.