Tag: missiles

Imagination flies free

I was driving home from work the other day. Left the office early to reduce driving time in the evening hours. Hamas likes their 6 p.m. missile barrage and I’m honing my missile-avoidance routine.

I was listening to talk-radio, but have kind of had enough of the news. Too much war talk and it’s getting a bit overwhelming. So, I switched to Spotify and up popped Supertramp, “The Logical Song.” How “wonderful, beautiful, magical” life once felt. Before Oct. 7. Before Hamas.

Then, as if on cue. I gazed towards the sky and saw missiles flying overhead. At first, it didn’t really click. And then, yikes! I quickly switched back to the news where, in a very calming voice, they were announcing areas under missile attack, which is another reason to listen to the radio while driving during war – real-time information. Lesson learned.

Suddenly, my smartphone’s flashlight started flashing, which was pretty darn cool! And there I was, on Star Trek, standing on the bridge. I even recalled the vessel number, NCC-1701. I was with Captain Kirk. No! I was Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy by my side, Sulu and Chekov at the controls. The Klingons were attacking and Mr. Spock, standing to the side, was calmly advising the attack coordinates. No, wait! That was the radio announcer. Seriously, this all took place within a split second in my over-active imagination.

The flashing continued. I realized my cellphone was communicating with me, warning of danger. I have the Home Front Command application, which sounds an amazingly loud alarm during a missile attack in my area, but changing between the radio and Spotify prevented the siren from going off. So, instead, the phone activated my flashlight, sending out an SOS. Now how neat is that?! In a geeky sort of way. Like for someone who imagines himself on Star Trek during a real-life missile attack.

Reality set in. There were Home Front Command instructions to follow.

Momentary panic set in. Where was my wife, to tell me what to do? Like she always does … but that’s another story. This time, I wanted her there, instructing me.

All these thoughts raced through my mind in milliseconds. As I calmly slowed the car and veered to the shoulder, like other cars around me, I put on the blinkers. More flashing lights, but the bridge of the USS Enterprise was now a distant thought. Looking both ways, I left the car and hopped over the road barrier, moving away from the car, although probably not far enough, because there was a steep decline just below. It was getting dark and, suffering from poor night vision, I didn’t want to trip and hurt myself. I heard my son laughing at me. “Nerd!” he called out. But that was just my imagination.

I should have laid flat, prostrating myself for maximum protection. But it had rained earlier that day, the ground was wet and I didn’t want to get muddy. “Nerd!” This time, it was my daughter in my mind’s eye. “OK,” I said to no one in particular, “I’ll squat.” Good enough, but not really.

The family in the car ahead were huddling together but too close to their vehicle. I shouted for them to move further away, but they didn’t react. Maybe they didn’t understand me, given my still heavily accented Canadian Hebrew. This time, I heard both my kids teasing me – 30 years and still talking like an immigrant! “Hey, they just don’t hear me,” I said to the darkness.

It was very moving seeing the father crouching down on top of his brood, in a protective sort of way. “Isn’t that touching,” I said to my wife in my imaginings. “For sure,” she responded, somewhat sarcastically, in the back of my mind. “I know you’d do the same.” 

Then it was over. The sky went quiet. People returned to their cars. The nestled family broke apart and entered theirs. We should have stayed in place several more minutes. Ten minutes is the recommended time. But it was dark, getting late, also a bit cold. I just wanted to get home, back to the real chiding of my kids and to my wife, somehow longing for her ordering me about.

A few minutes later, my wife called, to make sure I was safe. And then routine set in. “Don’t forget to pick up some milk and bread from the corner store,” she instructed me.

Am Israel chai. 

Bruce Brown, a Canadian-Israeli, made aliyah 25 years ago. He works in high-tech and is happily married, with two kids. He is the winner of a 2019 American Jewish Press Association Simon Rockower Award for excellence in Jewish writing.

Living under fire of missiles

Working from home, it was after 6 p.m. and my global Teams meeting had just started. Comfortably settled and talking about suppliers, delivery times and prices, my smartphone beeped incessantly – the Code Red missile warning app. More than 350 missiles fired at Israel over the last couple of days.

Rehovot has managed to dodge almost all the missiles. We could see them soaring overhead and hear the guided collision with our Iron Dome anti-missiles. And the nonstop news cycles informed us in real time where rockets were being intercepted.

Since terrorist Khader Adnan died from his hunger strike at an Israeli prison, Israel had been bracing for reaction from the Islamic Jihad in Gaza. In the same way my Canadian cousins warn their loved ones about a pending blizzard – Did you hear the weather report? It’s going to be a cold one. Potential white out. Bundle up. Hurry home. We do the same here but for different reasons – Did you hear the news? Adnan died. Might be terrorist attacks or missiles from Gaza. Be aware of your surroundings. Hurry home.

Sure enough, we felt the reprisals, with about 100 missiles fired from Gaza. Israel waited, preferring to respond at a time and place of its choosing. Our reaction came about eight days later, with the targeted assassination of three Islamic Jihad leaders; their names of no consequence, each responsible for reprehensible terrorist crimes over the years. And, with that, Operation Shield and Arrow began.

Back to Teams. Another siren went off. This one not only coming from my app, but also from outside. “Bruce!” my wife yelled. “Missiles!” “Hurry!” Not sure my European and U.S. coworkers understood when I shouted into my headset, “Missile siren! Gotta go!” Abruptly exiting my meeting, I darted to our TV room … er … reinforced safe room, which doubles as a den in quieter times.

We have about 75 seconds to reach our shelter before a missile hits or, preferably, gets knocked out of the sky – as apposed to the 15 seconds for those living closer to Gaza. Can’t imagine their stress during these times.

We just managed to close the heavy steel door and fortified iron window shutter when “BOOM!” The loudest boom we ever heard. My wife and I almost hit the ceiling, knowing this was more than the reassuring and softer crash of an Iron Dome antimissile intercepting an Islamic Jihad rocket high in the sky. No. This was something much closer, much more ominous.

Numerous calls from friends and family followed. Were we OK? Amazing how quickly news travels. My son texted from the safety of his dorm in the United States – a missile had landed next to his best friend Amit’s home. Then my daughter texted from the relative safety of her work north of Tel Aviv – a missile hit near the home of her best friend (and Amit’s sister) Shira. And on it went. With more chilling calls from neighbours.

I tried rejoining my Teams meeting, to create some normalcy. But I was too hyper, too distracted. Couldn’t focus on discussions about price variances and purchasing systems. I excused myself again, advising them the precariousness of the situation.

Rehovot had suffered a direct hit, due to the malfunction of our Iron Dome system. It was just around the corner, not far from Amit and Shira’s home. Curiosity being a strange animal, I walked the two blocks into what was literally a war zone. A chill engulfed my entire body as my skin crawled.

My favourite bakery nearby became a gathering place for the shocked. I considered buying cookies and cakes for our first responders, then thought better of it – didn’t want the action to be confused with the celebrating Palestinian street, which hands out sweets after such attacks.

The smell of sulfur, carbon and potassium nitrate dominated. A flash back to younger days of playing with cap guns … my mind looking for a safer place.

Time seemed to halt. Somewhat apocalyptic. Traffic snarled and jammed. Red-and-blue flashing lights from police vans, fire trucks and ambulances. Army sappers and Israel’s 669 search-and-rescue unit moving about in their yellow vests. Local and international news crews mustering about. ZAKA – the Orthodox volunteers who collect the remains of the wounded and dead after terror or missile attacks – were scouring the area. There were five wounded, one dead.

Alas, Israelis have learned to move on quickly. Within hours, the streets were reopened, the destroyed building draped with Israeli flags. And I joined another work meeting later that evening, this time much calmer. Again, in search of normalcy and routine. Echoing Herb Keinon from the Jerusalem Post, specific memories of these military operations – whether they last weeks, days or a weekend – quickly fade into the background. It’s difficult to differentiate one from the other: Rains, Summer Rains, Autumn Clouds, Black Belt, Breaking Dawn, Cast Lead, Pillar of Defence and, now, Shield and Arrow. The list goes on, unfortunately.

Israel takes maximum precautions to avoid collateral damage. We are known for our warning methods. Sometimes a “knock on the door,” unarmed missiles skimming the roofs as a warning of incoming rockets. Sometimes dropping leaflets advising of a pending attack. Missions are even aborted when civilians are spotted nearby. But our enemies indiscriminately shoot missiles – hundreds of them – towards Israel, hoping for maximum death, maximum damage. Fortunately, our missile defence system renders much of this arsenal ineffective. Until one gets through. As it did in Rehovot. My little shtetl. Paraphrasing from the Torah – may we be blessed with peace.

Bruce Brown is a Canadian and an Israeli. He made aliyah … a long time ago. He works in Israel’s high-tech sector by day and, in spurts, is a somewhat inspired writer by night. Brown is the winner of the 2019 AJPA Rockower Award for excellence in writing, and wrote the 1998 satire An Israeli is…. Brown reflects on life in Israel – political, social, economic and personal.