I came home one morning after one of those night shifts, deep into the COVID-19 pandemic, where we did not stop moving for eight hours straight. Literally. We did not eat, drink, or sit down for a second. I had been in two cesarean sections, cared for more women than I can remember, run endlessly back and forth from the COVID ward to the labor and delivery ward, and delivered five babies.

I got home, situated each kid in their Zoom classes, put in the laundry, did the dishes, cleaned up the house and collapsed on the couch. I don’t even remember falling asleep.

Suddenly, I was jolted awake.

Somewhere, I could hear the sound of fetal bradycardia (a slow fetal heart rate).

I listened, trying to work out where the sound was coming from, my eyes barely open as I scanned the room.

Rubbing my eyes it dawned on me. It was the dishwasher.

The water inside was pulsing at around 60 beats per minute, perfectly acceptable for a grown-up human and, apparently, a dishwasher, but dangerously slow for an unborn baby.

I chuckled to myself and started to lie back down.

That’s when I noticed… I was standing.

I had not consciously decided to stand up. I don’t remember moving. But there I was, on my feet, my heart pounding, my head cocked towards the sound, my hands clenched, and my knees bent slightly, as though preparing me to run and find a fetus in distress. I had no recollection of any of it happening.

Somewhere between deep sleep and full consciousness, my brain had detected a sound, identified it as someone in danger, roused me, stood me up, and prepared my body to respond.

All because of a dishwasher humming at 60 beats per minute.

In Israel, when there is a credible threat of an incoming missile attack, there is usually a specific progression of events.........

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