This piece is one of an ongoing series that we will be sharing in the coming days from Israeli authors and authors in Israel.
It is critical to understand history not just through the books that will be written later, but also through the first-hand testimonies and real-time accounting of events as they occur. At Jewish Book Council, we understand the value of these written testimonials and of sharing these individual experiences. It’s more important now than ever to give space to these voices and narratives.
So far I’ve been lucky. Not just during this war, but in all the skirmishes and rounds of fire that have preceded it since Hamas took over the Gaza Strip in 2007.
I have never been under rocket fire. The town where I live has never been targeted. I have never needed to shut myself up in my safe room and pray that the rockets coming down on Israel will miss my home.
But then it happened. An alarm blared on my phone. It was the Home Front app, telling me I had ninety seconds to lock myself up in my safe room.
I called to the children. Both were quite anxious. It was their first time as well.
Since October 7, when Hamas launched its barbaric surprise attack, my wife and I have been preparing them; bit by bit, with carefully molded words that will spare them the true horrors – but also instill upon them the need to be cautious and wary – and to immediately heed our instructions in case of an emergency.
We entered the safe room. I drew the heavy metal shutter across the window and all natural light was banished from the room, along with any fresh air. The heavy steel door was next. I clanged it shut and turned the handle to its top position. This doesn’t lock the door, merely seals it. On the first day of the war, in the kibbutzim near Gaza, there were life and death struggles over control of such handles.
The terrorists pulled on them to open the doors and get at the people hiding inside. The would-be victims held onto the handles for dear life, sometimes as long as six hours, to keep the killers at bay.
I just bought a wooden contraption that effectively locks the door by preventing the handle from moving. But I did not have it yet the night of that first alarm. In case of infiltration, I might have to hold onto the handle with all my strength.
And infiltration was the threat. At least those were the reports. An infiltration by air of small aircrafts or gliders bearing armed terrorists from Hezbollah.
Tension hummed in every blood vessel. Added urgency to every breath. But I had to keep a calm facade for the children. I wished then, and not for the first time since the war began, that I had a gun in the house. Even though I had not touched one since my army days.
What to do now? Play a board game? Read the boys a book? They seemed too jumpy for that right now, and I was no different.
So we simply talked. No one sat. I tried to make light of things, to keep their spirits up, to allay their fear.
Less than ten minutes passed until word came in one of the WhatsApp groups. We could leave. It was a false alarm, a neighbor claimed.
Not everyone was convinced. A quick discussion ensued. It was only when someone messaged that one of the news channels had reported it that people allowed themselves to relax.
There was no infiltration. There were no rockets streaking through the evening sky toward us. It was a human error. As simple as that. But it sent hundreds of thousands of Israelis into their safe rooms in a panic.
As I opened the door and the children hopped out, I thought to myself, “Dear God, this is what people in the south of Israel have been going through for years. And in their case, the rockets were real.”
And in the south, they have much less than ninety seconds to get to safety. In the town of Sderot, where Hamas terrorists went on a rampage on October 7, the residents had fifteen seconds to take shelter before a mortar or rocket reached its target. How can anyone live like this? What does it do to your psyche? To your soul? Jews were supposed to be safe in their own country.
I was angry at the government for allowing this. For letting people live in such fear for so long. And I was angry at myself as a citizen that I did not exert enough pressure on the government to change its course of action. To provide basic security for its citizens, which is its duty.
At the time of this writing, hundreds of thousands of Israelis, millions even, are doing their duty. Some are in military uniform. Others are in hospitals fighting for the lives of the thousands of wounded of this war. Some have the gruesome, soul-scarring task of identifying the bodies and preparing them for burial. And many others are volunteering, contributing in other ways, spreading the truth of what is happening here.
In many aspects, this war is like a huge, eardrum-shattering alarm for all of us. We all need to be more involved, show more solidarity to our fellow citizens, and to demand that we have honest and capable politicians who would never allow us to plunge into such a crisis again.
The views and opinions expressed above are those of the author, based on their observations and experiences.
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Jonathan Dunsky is the author of the Adam Lapid historical mysteries series and the standalone thriller The Payback Girl. Before turning to writing, Jonathan served for four years in the Israeli Defense Forces and worked in the high-tech and Internet industries. He resides in Israel with his wife and two sons.