You’ll sure have something to write about for your blog. No doubt about that, Ezra! Earlier that week, he had made a suggestion – no, a request – that until things calmed down, that we move our Shabbat morning kiddush to their place of residence, as he felt uncomfortable leaving Shoshana to shepherd their two teenagers down to their miklat if – better, when – there was a siren. Sure enough, at about 11AM that Shabbat, we heard the strident sound of the alarm, and we all trudged down the two flights to the entrance and the two additional flight to the sub-basement.

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That’s not a siren I’m hearing. It can’t be. I must be imagining. Why would there be a siren out of nowhere at 8AM on a Shabbat morning? And then I heard my wife’s dulcet tones from the other room. ‘Fred, get your ass into the mamad; we just heard a siren.’ Well, that settled that. As I explained to her through the bathroom door, ‘I can’t come right now; I’m working on a project in the small room; it’ll have to wait.’

I did finally join her, and together we tried to figure out what was going on. By this time, Barbara had turned on her phone, and at least we understood that we were now in the middle of a war, and the sirens meant we were being attacked.

And then our land line started ringing. If someone is calling us now on this phone right after there’s been a siren, it must be important, and we’d better answer. Sure enough, it was Hadassah hospital. My procedure, scheduled for the next day, had been cancelled, as well as everything else not deemed absolute emergency. Patients were being discharged, if at all possible. Don’t worry, you’re on the top of the list. We’ll call you to reschedule.

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