We are a people of storytellers. In just a few weeks, we will gather around the Passover table and retell the story of our people’s deliverance from Egypt. The Exodus is not only one of the most foundational narratives in Jewish history, but one of the most influential stories in all human civilization. It has shaped the very way we understand freedom. As Heinrich Heine, the renowned 19th-century German poet and essayist, wrote, “Since the Exodus, freedom has always spoken with a Hebrew accent.”

During these past few weeks, the war with Iran has consumed all of us. Israel, of course, is on the front lines. But now, with the United States also involved, you too are feeling the impact of what is unfolding.

Let me tell you our story, in the hope that it may offer even a small glimpse into how Israelis are coping with the present predicament.

We were in Boston visiting our daughter, Shira, and her family during the week following Presidents’ Day. We had been scheduled to return to Israel on Monday, February 23. However, a snowstorm on the East Coast delayed our departure. Our flights were canceled on both Monday and Tuesday, and we ultimately managed to return later in the week—leaving Thursday night and arriving in Israel on Friday afternoon.

We arrived back in Israel on Friday at 2:00 p.m.—just one day before the war began. We had planned to spend Shabbat with our daughter Hadassa and her family in Modiin and then return to Jerusalem on Saturday night. However, when sirens sounded and the war began on Shabbat morning, we quickly changed our plans.

Hadassa and her family have a mamad—a reinforced safe room—in their apartment. We do not. We live on the third floor of an apartment building, and while there is a shared shelter on the ground floor, reaching it requires running down the stairs quickly whenever a siren sounds. Having just returned from the United States, we also had very little food in our apartment. So, we decided to stay with Hadassa and her family for a few days. Those few days turned into nine days, as we repeatedly ran to the safe room—where we were also sleeping—each time a siren pierced the air.

When a missile is launched from Iran, an alert is immediately sent to our mobile phones if there is a possibility it could land in our area. This usually gives us five to eight minutes of warning before a siren sounds. At times, because the trajectory cannot be determined with complete certainty, an alert may be issued without a siren following. But once the warning comes, you begin to prepare—ready to run to a safe room, a building shelter, or a public shelter.

During the nine days we stayed at Hadassa’s home, we simply moved from one room into another, the mamad. After the second Shabbat, we returned to Jerusalem. Here, we have already experienced several sirens—some in the middle of the night—requiring us to walk down three flights of stairs to the shelter on the main floor. It is, in its own way, an opportunity to really get to know your neighbors.

Most of the time, we are in our apartment, so we simply prepare for the possibility of a siren—ready to walk down the stairs, remain in the shelter until the all-clear is given, and then return upstairs to resume whatever we were doing. There have been a couple of occasions when we were out on the street when an alarm sounded. One time, we were delivering cookies that Bryna had baked for soldiers of the IDF to an apartment several streets away—on Kurtz Road, in fact. When the siren sounded, we ran into the nearest building. We knocked on the door of one of the apartments, but no one answered, so we remained in the stairwell, which is considered a relatively safe place. Several times, we have been awakened in the middle of the night. We now keep our clothes by the bedside, ready in case we need to run downstairs to the shelter.

Our plans have had to be changed. The week of March 9, we were scheduled to be participants on an organized trip to the north for four days, but obviously, that did not happen. This week, on March 16, we were scheduled to fly to Berlin for the installation of the new president of the International Rabbinical Assembly. Flights, of course, were canceled, and we were unable to attend the installation.

There is, of course, a great deal of anxiety under the present circumstances. Yet we are relatively fortunate. First, we have a shelter in our building. Second, if we ever feel in real danger, we can stay with our family in Modiin. Third, we are given several minutes of warning before a siren occurs, allowing us to prepare. Most importantly, we have each other. We are trying to continue our regular routine even as we attempt to take the necessary precautions. I am still teaching and Bryna is doing her tax work. Those who live in the north are not so fortunate. They do not receive the same advance warnings, shelters are less common, and life has been profoundly disrupted—not only by the activities of Iran, but by Hezbollah as well.

We recognize that anxiety has reached you as well. We read with deep concern about events in Toronto, West Bloomfield, Chicago, and other places in North America. We know that you, too, are sometimes on the front lines—not with rockets, but with words and dangerous deeds. We are one people, one mishpacha, one family, and we feel for one another.

I am not certain when this war will end or what its outcome will be. Yet I am certain that we, as a people, will survive. The Passover story reminds us that no matter the difficulty, no matter the complex dangers we face, we will prevail. As the Haggadah states: “Not just once did somebody try to destroy us, for in every generation they have tried to destroy us, but the Holy One, blessed be He, saves us from them.” I am convinced we will get through this difficult period together.

As we sit at our Passover Sedarim this year, we can reflect not only on our longing for freedom, rooted in the stories of the past, but also on our hope for peace, quiet, serenity, and well-being—for our people, and for all peoples on the face of the earth. Am Yisrael Chai!!

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)