Tel Aviv, Stratis Aggelis
Some run and others calmly walk to the nearest shelter. The sirens that went off a few seconds ago also forced me to leave the coffee cup on the table before taking the first sip.
I go down to the basement of the hotel next door. The shelter fills up within two minutes. We are about fifty people.
Elderly, young couples with children, teenagers. Three girls are chatting next to me, in fluent English. Many are engrossed in their mobile screens. Opposite a couple is reassuring their dog, who seems quite familiar with the situation. Enter a family of religious Jews distinguished by their clothing. Some of the young men glance at them, but say nothing. We all sit on plastic chairs and wait.
A middle-aged man stands up and bars the iron door. Almost immediately there are knocks. Others have arrived, they open them to enter. Our attention turns to the dog, a friendly collie. I take a few pictures, no one is bothered. Along with the end-of-alarm cell phone notifications, nervous smiles and relief. Some are in a hurry to get out, some are not.
I breathe in the fresh air and return to the cafe. I don’t have time to finish him off and the sirens sound again. Back to the shelter. The “company” is almost the same, but there are new faces. Now there are a little more of us, with three dogs, all on their leashes. A plainclothes security man enters, armed with an automatic. Where are the religious people? Oh, by the way, they came in too. Here are the girls, here is the owner of the cafe with the cashier, she is probably his partner.
We look at each other meaningfully, as if we have known each other for a long time. Just in time, two of their friends enter. Handshakes and hugs. Somewhere overhead, a couple of booms are heard (I would later learn that the air defense shot down an Iranian missile over central Israel, between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, with no casualties from the debris). My mind wanders to the flattened Gaza and Beirut, where the civilian population has no shelter and is torn to pieces by the bombs.
We’re going out again in a few minutes. To finally finish this coffee. As I put the cup to my lips, I hear the siren. Come on, I think, and I’m tempted not to go down to the basement a third time. I was wrong though, it was the signal for the end of the alarm, which had come earlier on mobiles. I don’t want to think about it anymore.
I get up and go to the beach. By the standards of Tel Aviv, on a Saturday afternoon, it has minimal traffic.
Some jog, others play beach volleyball. And some couples wait in each other’s arms for the sunset. Until the sirens sound again…
