The Second Week: What War Feels Like After the First Shock

The following are entries from my journal during the second week of the war with Iran. If you'd like to read the first installment of this series, click here.

3/7/26

Last night was terrible.

Here’s what the night looked like:

19:16 Incoming missile pre-alert

19:19 Rocket & missile fire

20:41 Rocket & missile fire

21:54 Pre-alert

21:56 Rocket & missile fire

00:32 Pre-alert

00:37 Rocket & missile fire

00:50 Event ends

4:56 Pre-alert

5:00 Rocket & missile fire

5:14 Event ends

6:20 Pre-alert

6:23 Rocket & missile fire

6:24 More rocket & missile fire

6:40 Event ends

11:23 Pre-alert

11:40 Event ends

Everyone was dead tired last night. Alex didn’t even bring his camera to the miklat.

It was very quiet in the miklat all through the night. We were all exhausted and just waiting to go back to bed. Maybe we'll get tired of seeing each other. I hope not. But I think it was just a hard night for everyone, and we were all cranky. At least, I definitely was. I don't like being around people when I haven't freshened up and gotten ready first, and with this war, that's definitely been a challenge. Alex is always nice and chipper, regardless of the time of day. That's a wonderful quality, and it's challenging at a time like this. So, good for him.

This morning, that final alert didn't culminate in any missile fire. Alex always jokes whenever someone goes to leave the miklat: "Two more minutes. Wait two more minutes. Maybe three." This morning, after eight minutes had passed since the pre-alert and there was no actual siren, I grabbed my bag and went to leave before everyone else. I passed Alex and said bye, and he said, "What's the reason?", as in, why am I leaving so early? I answered that there was no alarm, and I tried to joke about how I want to go home. But I'm not feeling funny today. I'm feeling tired. I'm tired of the alerts. I'm tired of the pigeon noises outside my window. I want to be able to unpack my bag and live comfortably again.

Outbound flights are canceled through Sunday, including my best friend, Dan's. He apologized because he knew I really wanted to stay at his place (as I usually do whenever he flies to the US). But it's OK. It's not his fault. And I know it'll be better for him to stay here during wartime, to be with his three dogs. I'm glad for the support system I have in him being here. It is a bummer that I won't get to stay in Tel Aviv, in a change of scenery in a city I love. But war is a bummer (understatement of the year).

I’m just antsy. I’m itching to get out. I miss exercise. Dan is going to pick me up at 1:30 PM today. We’re going to go to the rooftop of WeWork. There’s a miklat there. We’re going to do pilates. And we’ll hang out. I told him I want to work on my photos at his place or wherever. It’ll just be good to get out and be with a friend. Being with my neighbors has been really nice, too. With Dan, I won’t have to hide my feelings or anything. I can just be who i am.

---

3/8

Yesterday, Dan and the girls came and got me. We went straight to WeWork to do pilates on the roof. We were the only ones there. It was shabbat during wartime. Quiet on top of silent. The building has everything you would need to live there: a kitchen, shower, workout room (the miklat was a dance studio/gym), nice bathrooms, a comfy couch.

We had to go down to the miklat twice before we even started pilates. Dan connected to the Bluetooth in the studio and put on music each time, usually Zumba. We could still hear the air sirens and the booms in the pauses of music. The girls (his dogs) would start barking each time the sirens sounded. They would sometimes go silent to listen, and then, they’d hear the alarms again and start barking all over again.

Exercise and sunshine did wonders to relieve my "jetlag," headache, and grogginess. And my body was feeling sore and strong. I haven’t exercised. I haven’t walked more than a couple thousand steps a day since the war started a week ago, whereas I usually clock at least 10,000 steps every day.

I had been planning to return to Rishon last night, but I decided not to. The change of scenery was healing.

After working out, we stopped at the bakery nearby and got dinner. There were a lot of people there, and quite a diverse mix — police, teenagers, a Muslim woman, secular Jews. It was one of the only restaurants open in the vicinity; plus, it's just normally a popular spot in the neighborhood.

After eating, we went home to Dan’s place. I worked on my photos from the little couch square while Dan watched the beginning of a YouTube playthrough of the new Resident Evil: Requiem.

We had a couple alarms last night and went into the mamad (a fortified room in a building -- in this case, his bedroom is the mamad). Wow, what a better experience overall. Instead of running to the bottom of the building, or outside to another shelter (the closest one to his building is a five minutes' walk away), you just go into the mamad, shut the steel door closed, close the steel window shutter, and wait out the alerts.

Each time we entered, Dan brought the girls treats. He warned me to be prepared to stay in the mamad for about 30 minutes each time. (That's how he had finished watching A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms in a few days.) I'm used to bringing my go-bag with me every time I run to the miklat. I wasn't sure what to bring with me into the mamad. He told me not to worry. If a missile struck nearby, we'd still be able to come out and grab what we needed from the apartment -- well, unless, the apartment was struck and/or we died lol. I fantasize about getting an apartment with a mamad and setting it up as my bedroom.

Last night, there was only one alarm. All I had to do was hit the "OK" button three times on the dang Amber Alert-sounding message and go back to sleep. I think the alarm was at 5 AM? When Dan and the girls came into the room, after he shut the mamad door, he tried talking to me, but he said that I just went, "Mm," and kept sleeping. It was such a gift to not have to get out of bed at the sound of a siren and to not have to interact with others at an ungodly hour of the morning.

At a more godly hour of the morning, Dan made me coffee, and we went out for pizza at Sammy's, our Eritrean friend's shop around the corner. But his pizzeria wasn't open, yet, so instead, we went for a walk, looking for another meal, maybe falafel.

We were heading to Washington St. for the famous Ben Hur falafel stand when we got a pre-alert. It was my first time getting a pre-alert while out and about. Dan knew the location of one miklat, and we started running, disregarding traffic to cross streets. Seeing a large group of people all walking in one direction, Dan asked if there was a miklat close by, and there was. We followed the crowds into an underground parking garage. I've seen these on Instagram reels; there have been parties happening in the underground miklats at night.

We spent a while down there.

People outside Israel often wonder if I'm scared. No, I'm not scared of the alarms. But I do go on alert; of course, my body knows there’s a life-or-death threat. It's hard to explain, and it's probably hard to understand, that I feel safe here. I read something online about how fortunate we are to live in a time of war here that affords us an advanced notice when missiles are coming so we can move to a safe room, where we will almost certainly be protected from the threat of death. It's a long way from the suicide bombers, bus bombings, and all the other bombs that used to be a greater threat decades ago. How can I feel safe during constant missile bombardments? I'm not sure, but I do, and I'm so glad to be here with people who feel like family to bear it.

The missiles these days are different than what they were last week. They're cluster bombs now, like the one we heard the other day that went off with a lot of successive booms. I still remember standing outside with my neighbors, waiting for the air raid sirens, and hearing that sound. The way my neighbor's eyes went large as she asked, "Ma ze? Ma ze?" ("What is it? What is it?") The cluster bomb warheads are causing more damage, but the interception rate is still high, and I don't think any direct hits have happened. But the falling debris is causing so much damage that it does make it scary to think about what a direct hit would actually look like.

Anyway, after the alert, we emerged back to the surface and got our falafel. There was one more alarm before the missile fire ended, and we walked back to Dan's place.

---

3/9

Dan: "I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, and I'm still not sure what I want to be when I die. But I don’t think I want to be rich when I die because it’s a headache.”

I ventured to my favorite park in Rishon today. It felt like a big adventure, since I usually try to keep my walks to a 90-second radius around my building in case there's an alarm. But I just couldn't stand being inside anymore and needed to get fresh air. So, I walked to the park -- the one with the palm trees and the electric piano. The piano was actually functioning! I haven't played in ages. I spent about an hour there.

There was one alarm while I was there. My body goes on alert when I hear the alarms, but especially this time, since I didn't know where the closest miklat was. Yet, there were plenty of people out and about, and if you follow the crowd, you'll find the bomb shelter. This one was in a narrow, high-ceilinged closet. We clumped in. A boy with a toy gun was firing Nerf-like darts while his mom kept scolding him to stop, since the noise was quite loud and annoying. Her son just smiled with a boyish grin.

The all-clear message came, and we all filed out. I returned to the piano. A few minutes later, there were several explosions in the sky. A man covered his head and began running to the shelter. A woman on a bench across from me had earbuds in her ears. She continued sitting, unaware, running a brush through her hair. I continued playing the piano, figuring that no alert on my phone meant we were in the clear. Looking up in the sky, I could see the white spirals of smoke of an intercepted missile.

---

3/10

There were no alerts at all last night!! For more than 11 hours?

It was a quiet day. But so far, by this time late at night, we've had three late-night alerts. I'm feeling exhausted and sick. Should've gone to bed earlier.

This morning, I had an online class with a few 5th grade girls for about 15 minutes total. We did a scavenger hunt. I had them bring something to the camera that is red, that is blue, that starts with "B". Then, I had them bring a right shoe. My favorite round was my co-teacher's suggestion: to bring their favorite thing. They all brought their parents to the camera.

Today, I was also a student. I had Hebrew class. Even though I haven't studied in so long, the class actually went well. I remembered a few things. We played a WordWall game, and I felt as excited as my students get when I bring a WordWall game for them.

So many alarms overnight. A quiet day seems to signify a restless night. Difficult night.

You get tired of going in and out of the shelter. The process becomes normal, and you feel tempted to stay in bed. I've started waiting until the actual alert to get up and out because sometimes, there's no air raid siren, which means you're clear from the missile's actual trajectory. If there is a siren, I can still make it to the shelter in time if I leave when the air sirens start. I've timed it. I'm not trying to cut corners, and I want to stay safe, but the situation becomes quite old. I can't wait for all this to be over.

I fantasize about a mamad, about just shutting the door when I go to sleep, turning off my phone, and sleeping through the whole night. What a luxury.

It's five to 4 AM, and I can hear the birds singing outside, beckoning the sun to rise, and the snores of one of the kids in the miklat. My neighbors alternate yawning from their seats. One neighbor farted loudly. We're all restless, waiting for the all-clear to return to our apartments.

It's 5 AM. We had another. Terrible night. So tired. Michal invited me to pick up freshly-baked chocolate chip banana nut muffins from her place before I go back to bed.

I wait for the actual alarm. I hear Alex calling the elevator. He knocks on my door. But I'm waiting for the alert because there's a chance I can stay in bed. A chance I can stay alone and go back to sleep. There will be another alarm. One AM, 3 AM, 4 AM. "Coffee time?" Alex jokes as we get out of the elevator. But I'm too tired to interact with people.

---

3/11

Felt so tough after the sleepless night. But still managed to go for a run this morning. I stayed close to the apartment buildings, in case there was an alarm, since each one has a miklat. I ventured into an open field by the highway at one point and found some beautiful street art that no one will likely see, since it's obscured from the road.

An alert at 2 PM, right after I'd finished my shower and was changing clothes. Nice. Dodged it.

Figured out the reason why the pigeons have been making so many annoying sounds from the window. One has laid a couple eggs in the space between the window pane and shutter.

My good friend and photographer buddy, Jenny, came over tonight. We had pizza and girl talk. It was one of those rare moments when you forget there's a war going on.

---

3/12

Two pre-alerts last night but no actual alarms, so I stayed in bed all night. Much better sleep.

I let five-year-old Ori play with my camera in the miklat. Here are the photos he took:

I've been feeling like I need an escape from Rishon, from the "sameyness" of my apartment. I've really been craving Tel Aviv. I'd had my heart set on it before, when I was supposed to home-sit Dan's place. Today, I was eyeing a couple options for a stay-cation in the city. When I talked to Dan about it, he said he'd make me a deal: "If you book the stay today, I'll drive you there." Deal.

We went to a nearby town called Azur for lunch, at Frenchie, which is a cute little coffee stand on top of a hill next to some fortress ruins. Dan's friend, Noah, joined us. She's one of those people you meet and instantly like and want to be friends with. After eating some sandwiches and drinking iced coffee (my favorite drink in Israel), Dan and I took the girls to a construction site next to a dairy farm to let them run around. After the girls got some energy out, chasing motorcylists who were also letting off some steam, we had one more pit stop in Ramat Gan, a big city next to Tel Aviv. Dan delivered a mishloach manot (a Purim snack gift bag) to the friend who had provided the wigs for his recent Alice in Wonderland-themed play. Finally, Dan dropped me off here in the north at Dotan's Guesthouse, a guesthouse right next to the sea.

The catch is that there's no miklat in this building. I'll have to run to the bomb shelter down the street now. But it's close, and I'll have better peace of mind, being by the sea and all my familiar happy places.

When I asked Dotan where the nearest miklat is, he answered, but he told me he doesn't go to the shelter anymore when there are alerts. "I want to have a lucky life," he said, "and if a missile lands on me, then it means I'm unlucky, and that's not the kind of life I want."

"You're so Israeli," I responded.

---

3/13

My body is a mamad.

Reinforced steel.

Grounded, protected, and safe.

Inside: good, love, positivity. Temporary shelter.

Outside: rocket and missile fire.

Strikes all around.

Occasionally, I open the door and look outside.

Rubble out there.

I close the door and windows.

But even locked in, I remember what I saw.

I know what awaits me out there.

Eventually, I will have to re-emerge

And face the rubble.

The last time I came to Israel was June 2024. I walked the Tayelet (boardwalk) every day and watched the gorgeous Tel Avivian women run along it. Ever since then, I've dreamed of being like them. And finally, thanks to this stay-cation in Tel Aviv, in a guesthouse beside the sea, my dream has come true.

And although I certainty wasn't dressed as fashionably as they are, and although I'm only running a 5K these days, I had a total runner's high, and I'm starting to feel more like myself and more in tune with life.

There was less commotion around Tel Aviv and the beach than there would usually be on a Friday morning, but there were still many other runners out there, and plenty of people just enjoying life -- fishing, sitting on the beach, playing volleyball, riding bikes, even putting their kids into bike seats and riding up and down the coast.

I felt a high on life. I felt a sense of normalcy. I love the vibrancy here. I love being around people.

I felt...not cracks...but a release, of stress, from my body. Being able to actually relax has made me notice the amount of stress I've been keeping in.

After my run, Jenny suggested going shooting (with a camera), so she came over to Tel Aviv, picked me up, and drove us to Shuk HaCarmel (Carmel Market).

As soon as we got to our usual Thai place at the shuk, there was an alarm.

I forgot to mention that there hadn't been an alarm all night, and I'd actually been able to sleep for about 9 hours or so! Jenny had kept waking up all night, expecting there to be an alarm. Sucks.

The nearest miklat to the restaurant was inside the shuk. We followed the crowd downstairs. There was a collection of miklats (miklatim) down there. Plenty of people were filling in the rooms, some of them smelling of alcohol and some carrying food. A few guys offered us kanafeh. A woman in a mask, with a red flower in her hair, overheard Jenny and I wondering aloud if the alert was over. She tried giving us advice and suggested that we all sing and dance, starting to sing a bit of "Am Yisrael Chai." Some of the people in the miklat smiled, and with the all-clear, we began to file out to the surface again.

I stumbled across that woman again after lunch. Jenny and I had followed the sound of Latin music to a dance party in the center of the shuk. With the number of people dancing and smiling there, you would have no idea there was a war going on. Jenny and I divided and conquered the party with our cameras, making new friends and feeling full in our hearts amongst the energy and passion of this outdoor dance club.

It was getting late in the afternoon, and on Fridays, stores close early for Shabbat, which begins at sundown. Jenny needed to get a few things to bring to her Shabbat dinner, so we walked a little farther into the city, to a bakery. While sitting and resting inside, I noticed a woman in the bakery with a Fuji camera slung across her chest. We made conversation and invited her to sit with us. That was how we met our new photographer friend, Janne, from Norway. She works at the Immanuel Church in Tel Aviv, doing a little bit of everything there. One of her roles is arranging tours for youth from Norway to come visit Israel, as a way of introducing young people to the country and combating antisemitism. Though, there haven't been any tours in a while, as you can imagine.

We talked about the war, the alerts, the lack of sleep, and our families back home and how they feel about all this -- the usual topics these days. And then, we got a pre-alert. The bakery staff pointed us to the nearest miklat -- the underground mall. Well, we ended up in another underground parking lot. Typical of Tel Aviv, I suppose. We waited out the alarms, laughing about the situation, showing each other our photos, and just talking about life some more. It was a memorable time for us all to be together. And as we came back to the surface and said goodbye, we promised to meet for a shoot in the shuk sometime, once things had settled down some more.

These photos are from an alarm later that night.

Jenny and I opened up Google Maps and started heading back toward her car. We walked down Nachlat Binyamin Street, which was empty, given the cirumstances. On a normal day, you'll find it either filled with people browsing the art market or with restaurant terraces pouring out on the sidewalks.

A plane flew overhead, and Jenny asked me why I got excited when I saw it. In that same moment, she received an email from her airline about a change in her upcoming flight to the US. Fearing it'd be canceled, she addressed the email right away. Thankfully, it was just a change in the scheduled flight time and the type of aircraft. Once she finalized the new information, I told her why I was excited -- because planes meant hope. People were still flying in and out of the country. Normalcy. Escape. Or homecoming.

Heading back to her car, we heard a massive explosion and instinctively ducked and covered. One of my WhatsApp group chats lit up with a buzz of conversation about it. Our coordinator said the rumor is it was a missile interception over the sea. One of the guys in our chat joked about Godzilla being awoken.

Jenny and I found the poetry in the situation. An interception engulfed by the sea.

My body is a mamad. An interception engulfed by the sea. Maybe, one day, we'll be able to write poetry about this. But I start here, with a mosaic of stories from my journal during this second week of war, and a collection of photos to illustrate a life that cannot be understood by others but that has somehow become normal for me.