I, along with all my neighbours, emerged onto the balcony where we chatted about what could possibly be happening. Was it a drill? A mistake? Who knows?
Suddenly we heard the booms of exploding missiles and we realized that this wasn't a drill or a mistake. "OMG!" We dashed for cover. I ran into the apartment and called out, "DD down to the shelter, NOW!" DD came racing out of her bedroom as I fumbled with the lock on the front door.
Of course once the Iron Domes had intercepted and exploded the missiles before they made impact, it was all over and the sirens stopped before I'd even got the front door open.
Here in Jerusalem we're out of the habit of thinking about the sirens except for announcing the beginning of Shabbat (when they are much quieter), minutes of silence on memorial days, drills, and the occasional error.
Back in the days of the second intifada, now almost 20 years ago, even a door slamming would make me jump with fright. When I'm visiting my friends on their kibbutz near the border with Gaza, I know that a siren means: Run for cover! I expect it. They live with it.
So there we were, with seven rockets fired on Jerusalem, speeding through the skies in our direction, all standing on our balconies to chat about the warning sirens. It reminded me of one of Rudyard Kipling's Epitaphs of the War - The Beginner.
Afterwards we laughed at ourselves but it wasn't funny. How many wars and attacks have we lived through and yet we behaved like beginners? It was a lesson in complacency. Next time we hear sirens we run to the bomb shelter and ask questions later.
Last night DD and I both wore decent pyjamas and put easy to slip on shoes by our beds.
the beginner