Riding a bus and having to get off that bus because of a missile alert

Another day in life under war conditions

In spite of the war, we go about our lives as if normal, within the guidelines defined by the Home Front Command. For example, some regions have no restrictions at all while others have no school — and everything in between.

Haifa, where I live, is in the second row of this table. Kids go to school only if there is shelter accessible to everyone in the school in the time it takes to reach safety after the alert sounds. In Haifa, that is about one minute for missiles originating in Lebanon. One minute. My grandkids have their classes on Zoom.

When they were staying with me (until last week), I got to witness my 7-year-old grandson taking his classes. My granddaughter is 11 and so sought privacy behind a closed door. But I saw my grandson in class, participating enthusiastically, answering questions, asking questions, arguing with a schoolmate over who pushed a certain button faster and more often. I saw him in sports class, finding an open space where he could do the calisthenics exercises along with the teacher and classmates, even getting down on the floor and finding the angle at which he could do the exercises and still see the teacher perched on the table in front of him. It was adorable.

And now I am back to being alone.

I had to go to the post office this morning. Got onto the bus near home and we were making our way as if life is normal.

On my Tsofar app, I suddenly saw an alert go off for the coastal region south of Haifa and quickly pasted onto Facebook a screenshot of the alert region along with the words: “And the work and school week begins. I'm on a bus in Haifa…"

and at that point, before the sirens began their up and down cadence in the air around me, my smartphone told me that I was about to be “alarmed” too. Of course, I did not stay on the bus to put up a screenshot but here is what I did post after it was over:

I continued my Facebook post: “and suddenly the alarm goes off here too. Lying on the grass waiting for booms. No booms. Back on the bus.”

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I had always wondered what it would be like to be caught on a bus during an alert. Here is what it was like for me in more detail than I shared on Facebook:

The bus pulled over quite quickly and safely at the stop opposite the Lin Clinic on the outdoor mall side (for those who know Haifa). People walked briskly toward the stores. The supermarket was close enough to get to and it, of course, has a bomb shelter inside. I cannot run so I decided to do something we were instructed to do when caught during an alert outside without shelter — lie down and cover our heads with our hands.

It was a bit unnerving to get off the bus quickly and sure-footedly (most injuries during alerts are from people falling while rushing for shelter), looking for cover when there is none.

I lay on the dewy grass. Unintentionally, my handbag was under me, pressed against the grass. Why this is important, I will tell you in a moment.

Only one other man was near me on the grass and I think he was the driver of another bus. My bus driver sat on the bench in front of the front entrance to his bus. Not really a good thing to do.

I covered my head with my hands for a moment, listening for booms that never came. The skies were blue with fluffy white clouds, belying the fact that they, the skies, can in an instant become a medium for killing machines.

When the two men got up, I did too and I took a seat in the bus. Very few of those who had got off the bus got back on. I suppose they were where they were going — either to the clinic or shopping in the mall, or to work nearby. It was only 8:30 in the morning.

After we had pulled away from the curb, someone at the back of the bus shouted to the driver that there was an unattended guitar on the seat in front of him.

Unattended bags, suitcases, and boxes are cause for concern in Israel. During the intifada, unattended packages and such were regarded as potentially containing bombs and the bomb squad had to be called in to take care of them. I am sure that many people lost their belongings that way, a moment of carelessness, such as this left guitar, having what they forgot blown up by the bomb squad, and so many people inconvenienced by the need to cordon off the road until the danger was eliminated.

Would the driver tell us to get off the bus without touching the “guitar?” Would he call the bomb squad?

I suggested that perhaps he had pulled away too quickly and the owner of the guitar had not got back to the bus in time. Accepting that explanation, perhaps not having needed me to tell him that, he just carried on. And you can be sure that I wondered if it was a left guitar or a left “guitar.” It was obviously the former because no buses blew up in Haifa today.

As the bus moved along, I marvelled at myself. I cannot run. I am one of the less than perfect post-double-total-knee-replacement cases where my ability to recover my beloved physical activities, running and dancing, are gone. I still struggle going down stairs; going up is easier. Yet today, I easily took the stairs to disembark from the bus and not only that — I got up from my prone position on the grass without having to plan the angles of my legs and arms to propel me into an upright position. And I got up smoothly and quickly (so the bus driver would not leave without me).

This has caused me to reassess my condition. Of course, in emergencies, people have been known to accomplish physical feats otherwise believed impossible. But if it is possible under emergency conditions, it means it is possible. I am now going to demand more of myself and this 73-year-old body is going to do things I have not done for years and years and year. Just wait and see!

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I continued my FB post after I got off the bus: “Now I'm wet from the dew from lying on the grass. And it feels a bit weird walking downtown just after an alert, people looking as if it is just a normal day.”

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I got to the post office to mail some important documents. Sitting waiting for my turn, I took out the envelop and discovered it got wet from me lying on my purse on the ground. I told the clerk why it was wet and he was as casual about it as if such things are normal in people’s lives.

Once I got home, I was able to update my Facebook post with the news that two surface-to-surface missiles had been launched form Lebanon. “Because these fly higher and there is no way to predict exactly at what height the interceptor will intercept,” I continued, “the alerts have to cover a large area to make sure people will not be out unprotected when shrapnel falls. That can explain why I did not hear booms -- they were too far away and out of earshot.”

But at least one interception was near where a friend lives. She heard the huge boom, she told me. Here is the tail of that shattered Fatah 110 missile that fell in her region.

You would not want to risk something like that falling on your head, even if it is not an explosive. That is why we stay in our shelters for ten minutes after the alert goes off.

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I have it easy. There are areas north of me and east of me where people are scampering for shelter far more frequently than I have had to do during this war.

And, of course, we are lucky in Israel to be protected by such remarkable defensive systems. There has been property damage and there have been deaths and injuries. But when you see the size of the Iranian missile meant to kill as many civilians as possible, you must see the miracle of Israel.

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