Preparing our family Friday dinner yesterday, we had one air raid siren compelling us to go into the safe room. So far, we’ve been able to turn off the oven or the stovetop without ruining a cake or a pot of rice when sirens sound. Life on the privileged side of this war.

True confession: Despite reassuring those inquiring from abroad that we are “staying safe,” we cut corners. To properly close the iron window in the safe room which we sealed only almost perfectly since last Saturday, we need to remove the sliding shutters. We’ve done it many times when subject to repeated air raid sirens. We removed them last June. Placing them back on track is tedious, so we left them in place. We were remiss in properly closing the door too. The handle mechanism seems loose internally – and Haim was rightfully concerned we could lock ourselves in.

In June, when attacked by Iran, we had the same door handle issue. Then, we often ran to the shelter at the nearby school. We were more fearful. There were more missiles. The vibe was more terrifying. Or less familiar than attacks from Gaza.

Since the October 2025 ceasefire, the anxiety of when action would resume grew progressively stressful. Like a balloon that can’t be filled anymore and suddenly bursts from the prick of a pin, followed by a breath – of relief. Wanting no more war, lacking faith they serve any valuable purpose, lacking faith in narratives of leaders justifying wars. Yet functioning under war better than functioning under the anticipation anxiety?

Our safe room could be safer. Still seems a better deal than my sister and her husband in Dubai where people hadn’t anticipated war. They don’t have safe rooms or shelters.

An anecdotal recollection: In November, before visiting Dubai with our 8-year-old granddaughter, she was anxious about flying, searching for excuses not to go. She asked about the safe room in my sister’s apartment. I told her that they don’t have one. She thought that reason enough not to go. But I assured her people don’t need safe rooms in Dubai. Who knew? She sure knows to ask about my sister and brother-in-law.

Her father is on reserve duty in northern Israel, and who knows what she understands about the dangers that entails.

No school. Cautious, limited departures from home in the last week.

Going to a pharmacy in the center of town yesterday, we saw bustling sidewalk cafés. People need a breather. The mall closed, other stores open on an erratic basis except grocers and businesses with vital services and supplies. Minutes after arriving home, a siren sent us to our safe room. I suggested we remove the shutter to properly close the safe room window, lest the whole family need to go into it at dinner time.

Haim’s son arrived with his two daughters (the 5 and 9-year-olds) first. Shortly thereafter we were all in the safe room following an air raid siren. His son convinced him that without properly closing the door, the impact of a missile landing nearby would blow it off.  He allayed concerns about getting locked in suggesting we keep a front door key in the room to throw out the window to a firefighter or passerby if necessary. Once Home Front Command notifications allowed people to safely leave their shelters, his son removed our shutters from their tracks and properly closed the iron window. Somehow the threat and the responsibility for others in our safe room had seemed greater in June.

I worried that Haim’s daughter was on the road when the sirens sounded, but she was still home. On Thursday, she said she preferred Friday dinner at our place. She needed a change of scenery with the kids. Suddenly, she asked if we could pack the food and come to her place (as we often do). Once she heard her brother had already arrived, she got the kids together and headed to our place. Fortunately, her mother was with her too, to help. Just before desert, we all found ourselves in the safe room. An opportunity to pose for family pictures.

Second anecdotal incident: Outside the safe room, photo ops continued. The 9-year-old jumped and held herself with each hand and foot on a wall on each side of the hallway and then demonstrated she could stand on the wall handless. Her 8-year-old cousin lost no time in demonstrating her version of climbing the walls, sitting on air with her feet on one side of the frame of a bathroom door and her back against the other.

Everybody went home. Air raid sirens disturbed our sleep more than once. We went to the safe room made safer earlier.

But this war is not a safe room. Except for diverting public attention from ongoing government actions undermining our democratic institutions.

Harriet Gimpel, March 7, 2026

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