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The telephone rang on my bedside table and woke me. The clock beside it displayed 12.05am. When I put the receiver to my ear, I could hear my sister’s voice.
“How are you doing, Alan?” she began, calmly.
“Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” I asked, confused.
“I wasn’t sure if you knew. The deadline’s passed.”
The date was 15 January, 1991.
Iraq had recently invaded Kuwait. An American-led coalition had set a deadline for Iraq to withdraw, otherwise they would be at war. This had nothing to do with Israel, of course. But Iraq figured that if it could get itself attacked by Israel, the Arab nations would split from the coalition and rally around Iraq. So Iraq threatened to attack Israel.
Anticipating all this, and aware that Iraq had used chemical weapons against its own citizens, we (in Israel) were prepped on how to use gas masks and seal our rooms.
https://www.cia.gov/resources/csi/static/Gulf-War-Tel-Aviv.pdf
I was sure my sister’s call meant that Iraqi missiles were already on their way, and I frantically asked her what she was doing right then. “We’re sitting in the kitchen having some coffee and cake”, she responded with a giggle. How could she be so calm?
Two days later the coalition attacked Iraq, which responded by firing ballistic missiles at Israel. The Israeli military didn’t respond.
The first air-raid siren in Jerusalem sounded with such force that I almost fell out of my bed. A four-letter word popped into my head at the exact moment that the same word was screamed out by my flatmate in the next room. With gas mask in hand, he raced into my room and began sealing the space around the edges of the door. I reached for some scissors and started snipping wildly at my beard so that my gas mask would fit snuggly around my face.
To the best of my knowledge, it was the first time Israel had been attacked with ballistic missiles. In retrospect, we laugh today at the many stories that arose from the fear of those times.
https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1991-01-13-mn-396-story.html
Same Same, but Different
More than 30 years later, ballistic missiles were once again fired at Israel. As with the 1991 Gulf war, the attack was expected.
https://edition.cnn.com/2024/04/12/politics/white-house-iran-threat-israel/index.html
This was the source of numerous jokes. With Passover only a few days away, people proudly argued there was no need to spring-clean the house for the festival because, in any case, it would be blown to smithereens within a couple of days by the Iranians.
And then, two weeks ago, it happened. It was early evening, and a friend called me in a panic. “Have you heard? The Iranians have launched an attack! We’re doomed!” I was suddenly transported back to the Gulf War and looked to the sky that threatened. Perhaps because I had been through it before, I didn’t feel anxious. I calmed my friend and, employing the Australian anti terrorism slogan, told him to 'be alert, not alarmed'.
Nonetheless, I thought it prudent to watch the news. Each news anchor announced with dismay that Iran had launched hundreds of explosive projectiles to Israel, and they would arrive in about 7 hours. It was a strange sensation, like being in a car crash and watching it happen in slow motion. Friends from abroad, watching the news from thousands of miles distant, started calling to say they loved me and that their hearts were with me.
I knew the drill, filling some bottles with water and putting aside some candles and matches. Only then did I go to bed, wearing pyjamas suitable to wear in public.
Have you ever tried to sleep knowing you would be woken in a couple of hours for some exciting event? It was sort of like that, except that the event might be that the walls around you have collapsed and one of your limbs has been blown off.
At about 2.30am I woke to the sound of an explosion. My bed shook. Two more explosions followed, each louder than the other. Calmly rising, I grasped my provisions and opened the front door. Neighbours were sleepily guiding their children down the stairs towards the communal bomb shelter. Only then did the air-raid siren sound. We all crammed into the small shelter. Someone kept trying to access the Home Guard app on his phone to obtain updates of missile landings, but the app was overloaded and barely responded. Mothers sat on folding chairs cuddling their toddlers. Fathers stood around pretending to be in control. A young woman, bleary-eyed from being woken in the middle of the night, held her dog. Another woman, leaning against the concrete wall next to me, stared at her phone: “Ballistic missiles, cruise missiles, and drones. Those Iranians are nuts!” she exclaimed out loud. It was then that I realised: suffering an attack of ballistic missiles is a new experience for this generation, as well as for anyone who didn't experience the 1991 Gulf War.
By 3am the explosions stopped, and I invited everyone back to my place to watch a war movie. A few titters could be heard as the tension calmed, and then everyone slowly went back home to bed.
And that was it.
Despite numerous conflicts in recent years with Hezbollah and Hamas, when rockets from Gaza and Lebanon sent us scurrying to our shelters at all hours, this attack against Israel was different. Indeed, I was deluding myself when I felt a similarity with the Gulf War. Back then, Iraq shot 42 ballistic missiles into Israel over the course of a whole month. Now, decades later, Iran shot over 120 ballistic missiles into Israel that were far more advanced, in addition to 30 cruise missiles and 170 drones - a massive amount of firepower – that were all planned to arrive simultaneously.
Holy Sh*t.
This was a mere rehearsal for the future. The Iranians were testing the true defensive value of Israel's Iron Dome anti-missile system, trying to overwhelm it. It performed phenomenally, and more than justified the billions spent on its development and the interceptor missiles it used to repel the attack.
Having said that, the drones and cruise missiles - about half the munitions despatched by Iran – might have hit their targets had they not been neutralised by the efforts of a coalition of countries – including surrounding Arab States – that helped Israel defend itself.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2024/04/15/israel-air-defense-iron-dome-iran/
A Message from God?
As it happened, the Gulf war ended on February 28, 1991. This coincided with the festival of Purim, when Jews celebrate their success at confounding plans for their genocide by the Persian authorities. Many felt it was truly a sign from God.
https://www.jpost.com/judaism/jewish-holidays/article-793110
The same cannot be said in 2024 of the Gaza war. With more than 130 hostages still in Hamas captivity, many of whom have perished, Purim this year did not herald an end to the war. Perhaps God planned to have the hostages released on Passover instead? Also known as the festival of freedom, when Jews celebrate being liberated from slavery in Egypt, this would clearly be a symbolic occasion for the hostages to be released from the tunnels of Gaza.
Celebrating Freedom
As Passover approached, Hamas released a staged video of high-profile hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin, in which he was presumably prompted to verbally attack the Israeli government for not coming to an accomodation with Hamas for a hostage release and ceasefire.
This video touched Israel’s raw nerve, encouraging protests against the government and towards a ceasefire against Hamas.
Ten points to Hamas.
Alas, despite our many prayers, no Passover miracle brought back any hostages. Instead, we watched as Jewish students were warned to stay away from American Universities due to aggressive pro-Palestine, anti-Jewish rallies.
These well-funded and orchestrated rallies have done a superb job of appearing to be grassroots efforts, enlisting the current generation which, in a world of tweets, has failed to do proper research to understand reality. To them, bashing Israel and the Jews must be the right thing to do – after all, everyone else is doing it!
Another ten points to Hamas (Hamas is in the lead)
Seder Night
We all went to our seder dinners wishing each other a happy festival. There was no joy in the air and our greetings felt phony. At the seder I attended, instead of biblical commentaries of the exodus story, our host read aloud poems about army service, grieving families, and mutual responsibility. The song 'Tie a yellow ribbon' was even read out in English, in reference to the ubiquitous yellow ribbons adorning Israeli cities to display our longing for the hostages who are absent from our lives.
A printed page was distributed, on the letterhead of the Chief Rabbi, containing a prayer for the return of captives. We read it together and felt a pit in our stomachs.
Early on, the Haggadah contains a story of a group of rabbis who stayed up all night at their seder discussing the story of the exodus. At dawn, a student arrives and alerts them that the time has come for morning prayers. We learn from this an obligation to recount the exodus story annually, even if we know it by heart. Some scholars suggest another explanation: According to them, the rabbis named in the story, from the time of Hadrian, were supporters of the Jewish rebellion being waged against Roman control of the Holy Land. This was not a seder night per se, but a strategic military council, and the student alerting them of the approaching dawn was in fact a sentry cautioning that a Roman patrol was in the area.
https://www.haggadot.com/clip/seder-bnei-brak
Perhaps the story was included in the Haggadah to teach us that the fight against oppression applies in every generation, and that we must always be on guard. In my mind's eye I could see our soldiers conducting a seder in Gaza, and for me the rabbis of Bnei Brak suddenly came alive.
I spoke up and shared this commentary with the other seder guests.
“That's no comfort for us today”, someone chimed. “The revolt against the Romans failed, and we Jews lost the war.”
He was right of course. And that hurt.
As we sat together that evening, 35 missiles were fired at Israel’s north from Lebanon. No-one was there of course. The residents had been evacuated half a year earlier, and were having their seders elsewhere, most notably in Tel Aviv's Hostage Square. The latter was a closed seder, only for survivors of the October 7 massacres.
Wish Us Well
After leaving the seder meal I passed an elderly couple in the corridor. “How's your festival going?” I asked them with a smile. The woman leaned towards me as she answered:
“We are both coming up to 80 years old” she said, flicking a glance at her husband. “We've never experienced anything like what’s going on today in Gaza, including the mood in Israel. This is the worst we can ever remember. Horrible times.”
There wasn’t much I could add. “I wish us all well”, I said to them, before they disappeared down the corridor, a sad but determined look on their faces.
I wish us all well.
