Noa Borstein Hadad
Sirens again, dashing for the shelter. The previous war, nine months ago, caught us off guard, unsheltered. In general, neighborhood shelters are best avoided. They are dirty, damp, smelly, dark, and unsuitable for long-term occupancy. We vowed never to be caught that way again.
This time, we were ready. The lights in the shelter were fixed and working, and redundant sofas and chairs had been dragged in to make the stay more comfortable. One of the neighbors added a chest of old games from her storage room. The house committee brought an electrician ahead of time to add outlets for charging cell phones or for a heater or cooler. Beach chairs were neatly folded in the corner, and the non-standard wooden window was attached to the wall with large screws. No Iranian missile will be able to dislodge it.
With these improved conditions, the current battle with Iran feels different. On the one hand, screaming sirens still cut through our fractured lives. On the other hand, we have ceased to run hysterically to the shelter every time they go off. We stride confidently to the shelter nearest our building, or to our safe rooms, exercising our lives in the unique Israeli oxymoron called a state of Regular Emergency.
The Tel Aviv area is among the most targeted by missiles in the current confrontation. The resilient Tel Avivis, instead of waking up the kids and running for shelter four times a night, for a quarter of an hour each time, have found other ways to make the state of regular emergency easier. For example, setting up camp in the large public shelters constructed by the municipality, or the large underground parking lots, or the underground stations of Tel Aviv’s light rail. Car parks and train stations have been transformed into colorful, lively, and bustling depots.
Tel Aviv
At the Dizengoff Center parking lot, dance and yoga lessons were offered, offering peace of mind for body and soul. Very quickly, a local what’s-up community sprang to life with invitations for Shabbat services, free catering, and after-missile parties.
Throughout Tel Aviv, the social network buzzed with shelter ratings. “Nice local atmosphere and hospitality,” reported one Instagram follow-up; another mentioned “unpleasant smells” or “seating and water coolers” give me a like and recommend to a friend. A new wave of followers has been invented.
Other influencers gained their likes by inspection tours of public shelters. “Located 50 meters from the street”, ran one report. “During our visit, the shelter was clean, organized, and cool,” wrote another self-appointed shelter rater after a missile-break inspection of a shelter in the posh Bavli neighborhood in North Tel Aviv. “However, the shelter is small, especially for families with kids.” Join my followers for more reports.
“Warm and safe” was the rating for a shelter near Dizengoff Circle. “A very cute shelter. Not underground, but clean. I visited it during the 11 o’clock siren, and it was very crowded,” wrote Daniel this morning, rating a shelter in a South Tel Aviv neighborhood.
“This is a really hot shelter,” reported someone about a shelter in the cool Florentin neighborhood, “it doesn’t have an air conditioner.” Florentin excels at the highest number of shelter ratings, offering the most creative reviews. “Crowded during happy hour, empty during off-season. 100% protection with concrete vibes and a slight crowd,” reported a bar aficionado. A more poetic influencer notified his following that his local shelter had “Morgue lighting, Blender acoustics, and an Intoxicating smell of rats and cats (thanks to Mitzi the cat), no wifi, no air, but indie performances, and a pack of cute dogs. Bring wine, something to sit on, and something to nibble.” We will join with the next siren, answered one of the likes.
“Let me tell you of a secret shelter that everyone in Tel Aviv wants to know where it is,” wrote Tomer after the last attack. “Excellent location for meditation – a 20-minute detachment from the noise and tempo of the outside world – no wifi connection. There is also a VIP room with a little ventilation. I will return – if a missile doesn’t get me first”.
Meanwhile, on TikTok, the “Rate My Bomb-Shelter” trend is exploding. While making their way to the shelter, more and more people are sending photos and videos of their neighborhood haven, highlighting the latest additions and accoutrements, and asking to leave a rating for the shelter.
“After consulting with all the neighbors, I have decided to give our shelter a low rating”, explains a resident of the Kiryat Shalom neighborhood, “to avoid overcrowding,” he says with a smile. “There is a lot of space, but not enough chairs”. However, the attempt failed, and the shelter currently has a five-star rating.
The above-mentioned shelter, like many neighborhood shelters, is a microcosm of the political tendencies, beliefs, and arguments characteristic of Israeli society in recent years. The shelter has two parts: the right side, normally used as a synagogue, and the left side, used as a youth club. “In the beginning, everyone sat together, in the order of arrival. However, over time, the shelter divided”, reports a resident of the neighborhood, “the religious people who arrive without cellphones sit on the synagogue side of the shelter. They don’t adhere to the all-clear signal on the cell phone, but leave when they feel safe and protected. The secular residents sit on the youth club side of the shelter, which has wifi reception, and wait for the instructions from Home Command.”
The residents of this diverse neighborhood don’t argue about politics. They are divided over the door policy – or in more exact terms, when to close the shelter’s massive steel door. “The minute an early missile attack notice is sent, people begin to make their way to the shelter, in order not to be bottlenecked at the entrance when the siren sounds”, explains a resident. “The people who are already in the shelter want the door to be shut immediately. Others, at the bottleneck at the entrance, and others curious to watch the interceptors whooshing to the sky, stand outside and prefer to lock the door a few minutes after the siren. It is a heated argument with raised voices and fear”.
With all this new cultural shelter vibe, it is important to remember that thousands of people have been killed or wounded in the current conflict. Currently, in Israel, 11 people have been killed due to missile attacks and another 3,000 wounded. It seems the missile vibe is actually about alleviating the “Russian Roulette” fear of living under constant missile attacks.
