Meet the Neighbors – Underground

Tents of Mercy Congregation

Kiryat Yam, Israel

The Hebrew word for our public bomb shelters is “miklat” from root “to absorb.” I can say that during the recent Iranian missile attacks we definitely felt absorbed.

After the first warning that Iranian missiles have been launched, you have several minutes to get near a bomb shelter. Ours is a public, underground space that easily holds the 60 or so neighbors gathered there. The second siren tells you that you have one minute to get yourself and your kin inside the shelter.

The very sound of the alarm is alarming (Hmmm, I guess that’s intentional). And this sound reverberates from numerous sirens throughout the area under threat.

People are congregating near the entrance to the shelter, but not eager to descend into the enclosed space any sooner than absolutely necessary. They’re hanging out with a casual air. Smoking. Checking their phones. Talking in that attitude of “Oh well, here we go again.”

For two solid months (September 22 to November 27, 2024) our area was already subject to multiple daily rocket attacks by Hezbollah from just over the Lebanese border. That border is a mere 22 miles/35 kilometers from our apartment building.

When the second “real” alarm cranks up, everyone who’s not already down inside the cavern-like shelter heads through the heavy security door. Some folks are sitting on the steps (not recommended). Others are saying “Hey, move down, these steps aren’t safe.”

When we get to the lowest level, we are pleasantly surprised by air conditioning – no small blessing as summer heat is already building in our Haifa Bay coastal area. It’s quite a scene! Dog owners have unhesitatingly brought their pooches. Thankfully, there are no dog fights. Grandmas, dads and moms are holding small babies, innocently cuddling close, as yet unaware of the adult world’s wars. And everyone’s still on their devices. Occasionally someone will shout out an update on the current attack. We can even hear booms in the distance, the sound muffled by being 30 feet/10 meters below the park above us.

We’re fascinated by the cultural variety. Ours is what I would call a lower middle-class neighborhood. The neighbors work as machine operators, clerks, electricians and plumbers. My eyes take in the attire and ethnic backgrounds. The older folks care less about their appearance. Most everyone is in shorts and sandals. A few are still in pajamas.

We meet an older religiously observant fellow who is always the last to leave the shelter. He proudly brings a sack of food and consumes it while relaxing on a sofa provided by the city. He tells us that he came to Israel from Morocco as a teenager. His demeanor is very pleasant, accepting us even with our obviously non-native Hebrew.

My wife, Connie, moves her chair to sit with an Ethiopian Israeli mother and her two daughters, aged 22 and 13. These are not strangers, as the 22-year-old cared for our cat once, when we went abroad. And one holiday I was invited to the family’s patio celebration for a beer and friendly exchange.

After ten minutes elapse, there’s the question: “Is it safe to come out?” And, as with most issues in Israel, there’s an overabundance of opinions. “No, there’s no all-clear.” “But I heard it on the internet.” “Wait, it’s not time yet.” “Forget it, I’m not worried.” So, the exit is also in waves. Gradually everyone makes their way back up to the outside world, including those who’ve been lounging on mattresses in the other half of the shelter. The mattresses are there for middle-of-the-night excursions to the shelter.

All in all, it’s a more relaxed experience than you might think. It’s as if everyone feels “OK – been here, done this. We’ll survive.” And though we may not have gotten the life story of many of our fellow shelter dwellers, there’s a sense of identification. We’ve passed through a necessary ritual, foisted upon us by yet another enemy with an insatiable appetite for Israel’s destruction.

Even the morning of the “cease-fire” there continued to be missile attacks. [One of them was so powerful that it murdered four citizens in Beer Sheva even though they were in a bomb shelter.]

Finally, we returned to our apartments, relieved that the sirens had stopped, and that we could resume something resembling life’s “normal” routine.

Meanwhile, the not so in-the-background war in Gaza continued, claiming the lives of seven precious young IDF soldiers from an explosion, the day after Iran’s missiles ceased! One of them, Alon Davidov, lived not far from us. That moved me to stop by the “shivah,” seven day mourning period. His father began responding to my sympathies philosophically, but soon shed tears, his heart broken to have lost his only son.

I’m sighing, reflecting on the extreme price of Israel’s existence. Only knowing that Almighty God is the Author of our being here equips us to stand our ground – because it’s His ground. Thank you for being among those who are interceding before His throne of mercy, proclaiming the Lord’s covenants with Abraham, Moses, David, and Yeshua.

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