It’s just after eight o’clock on a Saturday morning when the mobile phone starts beeping loudly. In the hostel near Tel Aviv’s port, swearing can be heard coming from several rooms. There are a handful of tourists, the hostel is mainly full of Israelis who have been out in Tel Aviv until late on Friday evening. In the run-up to the Purim festival next week, [waarbij wordt gevierd hoe het joodse volk werd gered van de vernietigingsdrang van de Perzische koning, zoals beschreven in het bijbelboek Ester] there were all kinds of costume parties in the city. The party goers wake up with difficulty after a short night.
Room doors open, heads sleepy. Where’s the fallout shelter here? Nobody knows. The hostel doesn’t have one, the girl at reception knows that.
Israel has attacked Iran, a little later it buzzes through the lobby where there was a party yesterday and where hostel guests now gather in sweatpants. Cursing again.
One of the guests goes outside in bath slippers to find out where the nearest air raid shelter is. Behind the next building, he hears. We follow him in a group. We don’t have to be in it, he explains along the way. “We just need to know where it is.”
Another says that rockets from Lebanon reach Israel within a minute and a half, leaving little time to reach the bomb shelter. Now that the danger is coming from Iran, we have ten minutes. That’s nice. “Only the rockets are much larger, which is a disadvantage.”
Back at the hostel, two young women wearing rabbit ears – part of their festive outfit from the night before – order coffee.
The man in a booth next to a parking lot points to the entrance of an apartment building. In there. The shelter is large and empty except for a few bicycles and shopping carts. We walk back, through empty streets. Two runners pass by. Crazy people, the group thinks. Back at the hostel, two young women wearing rabbit ears – part of their festive outfit from the night before – order coffee.
Full bomb shelter
Just before ten o’clock the alarm goes off again. This time a string of hostel guests trot outside. The girl at reception, who was still working stoically at eight in the morning, is also coming along. People join in on the street. The shelter is full: people in pajamas, sportswear, a group of men in work clothes, children and two golden retrievers. Stacks of plastic chairs and crates are dragged down from the apartment building so that everyone can sit. The atmosphere is pleasant. Everyone is looking for information on the phone.
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Tel Aviv residents take shelter under bridge as air raid sirens sound
Reuters
Rami Mordov (57) says he was walking the dog at home in Ganei Tikva, just outside Tel Aviv, when the alarm sounded. His spinning class was starting in 45 minutes, so he called the gym. Yes, all lessons would continue as usual. When he arrived the club was closed. He then decided to drive to Tel Aviv to drink coffee on the boulevard. When he parked his car, the alarm went off and he followed others to the nearest shelter. “And now I sit here.”
He is not worried about his three children. The two youngest live with their mother and have a ‘safety room’ in the house. “They are safe there.”
After an hour we can go outside. Half an hour later the alarm goes off again. It is partly the same and partly others who enter. One of the two golden retrievers is there again and a woman with a small dog that barks non-stop.
Restaurants and cafes are closed
An hour later we are in the shelter for the third time. There are now a few office chairs and a wicker bench. Amir (53) does not want to give his surname NRC because, according to his family, he thinks ‘too left-wing’ about the war in Gaza and he doesn’t feel like making a fuss. He has been living in South Africa with his family for a year and is in Israel for a few weeks to visit family.
Residents of Tel Aviv take shelter in the basements during an air raid siren.
Photo Tomer Neuberg/Reuters
He is very pleased that his wife and two children are not with him, he says. “I only have to worry about myself. That’s one less thing to worry about.”
He sees that quite a few Israelis who have the opportunity to leave the country do so. And according to him, this is not only for safety reasons but also for economic reasons. Life is expensive, he says. “Raising children is unaffordable for many Israelis. And there is hardly any social safety net.”
We can go outside. Once again we stand in the empty, silent street. Some people don’t go into the shelter at all, says Amir. “They just take the risk. It remains a trade-off.” Rami Mordov previously said that he always sees people becoming more lax the longer it goes on.
All restaurants and cafes are closed, but the restaurant Abulalafia next to Tel Aviv harbor is open as usual. “It’s best to sit there,” says Amir. “If the alarm goes off and you don’t have time to reach the shelter, stay low to the ground and lie against an interior wall. In the kitchen, for example. Army trick. I do that too. That’s also quite safe.”
At half past three the alarm goes off again. The fourth time. Now there is arak to drink with orange. Chips and hummus were added later.
