By Rabbi Howard Wolk
My wife, Julie, and I arrived in Israel on Tuesday, June 10. The purpose of the visit was to participate in Julie’s grandson’s bar mitzvah. We were also planning to visit my son and his family, along with other relatives and friends.
From Thursday night through Sunday, we stayed with a family in Neriah, a yishuv past Modi’in and Hashmona’im. At 2:30 a.m. Friday, we were awakened by a knock on our door from our host — an alert had been sent out, and we had to go to the mamad — the safe room.
That is how we met the family with four little girls — in our pajamas!
About three minutes later, the sirens sounded. This was our first such experience — one that would be repeated daily and nightly throughout the next 12 days. Only one day was free of alerts and sirens.
On Friday, we downloaded the Home Command app. It does its job: no matter how deeply one is sleeping, the screeching sound will wake you. It tells you to seek shelter and informs you in how many short minutes there will be a missile or drone attack.
Shabbat dinner was punctuated by two sirens — 30 children, men and women crowded into a moderately sized safe room.
Everyone was instructed to keep their phones on for Shabbat. Because of the life-threatening situation, this was truly pikuach nefesh — preserving life overrides other prohibitions. This was a new experience for me.
Shabbat morning bar mitzvah services went on as scheduled, without interruption.
At the kiddush following services, a young soldier addressed us. He is an American who made aliyah: a Chabadnik in full uniform, including his weapon. He gave us an update on the war and shared the following insight:
He quoted Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, saying one of the miracles of Purim was that the Jewish people were threatened — and they took the threat seriously. The soldier explained that the same is true now. Israel is being threatened (again by Persia, now called Iran), and Israel is taking it seriously.
Just hours after Havdalah, we were back to the safe room. At that point, all synagogues in the country were closed. All gatherings were canceled. A maximum of 30 people could meet — only if they had a large enough safe room.
On Sunday morning, on our way out of Neriah, we stopped to see a piece of shrapnel that had fallen. It was about the size of a mini school bus.
As the war continued, people were repeatedly reminded of the necessity of seeking shelter. Some buildings took direct missile hits. People were killed. Others were injured or worse while running to safe rooms — or ignoring alerts.
The indomitable spirit of the Israeli population was evident. In safe rooms, people recited Tehillim (Psalms), sang songs and played games.
Once the “all clear” signal was given, people emerged from their homes. They resumed their walks. They returned to shopping.
Remember, schools were closed. Many businesses were closed. Julie’s brother is a physician — his office had to shut down because he did not have a safe room for patients.
In 1992, Israel passed a law requiring that any new home or apartment have a safe room. But older homes and apartment buildings do not necessarily have one. People had to go to basement rooms or travel blocks away to a friend’s home when they heard the alert. Certainly not an ideal situation.
The unwavering resilience of the Israelis was quite evident. They continued to exhibit positivity and an upbeat ruach (spirit).
Certainly, the strain of constant trips to safe rooms took its toll — especially on children. No one can yet calculate the emotional and psychological trauma of young boys and girls being carried to safe rooms night after night. By the end of the war, someone posted a meme of a hat that read: “MAKE ISRAEL SLEEP AGAIN.”
Julie and I were in safe rooms in Jerusalem, Ramat Beit Shemesh and Ra’anana.
The Kotel was closed. One could only enter the Old City of Jerusalem if they lived there.
Mamilla Mall in Jerusalem was nearly shut down. A few eateries remained open.
Travel was curtailed. What would you do if sirens sounded while driving on a highway? You were instructed to pull to the side, seek low ground and lie face down.
We spent Shabbat with Susie and Rabbi Stewart Weiss of Ra’anana, formerly of Tiferet Israel in Dallas. Several nighttime visits to the mamad. Their living room became our synagogue.
Julie and I have no regrets about being there. We were sharing this dangerous experience with our relatives, our friends and our people. In Dallas, people were likely starved for news — they felt removed. In Israel, we were part of it. Nerve-racking? Yes. But it made us feel deeply connected to our people’s latest historical chapter.
Special prayers were offered with the conclusion of the war.
We thank Hashem for His divine protection.
We thank the dedicated soldiers of the IDF and the members of the U.S. Armed Forces.
We pray for the release of the hostages.
The 12-Day War may reshape the Middle East map. Our people in Israel continue to emerge victorious.
Rabbi Howard Wolk is community chaplain at Jewish Family Service of Dallas. He is rabbi emeritus of Congregation Shaare Tefilla and a past president of the Rabbinic Association of Greater Dallas.