In the early hours of Sunday morning, four massive explosions reverberated, marking the onset of the attack. The resounding booms shook our apartment, yet miraculously, our three-month-old baby, Eden, remained undisturbed.
Peering out of our window, my husband David and I witnessed flashes and streaks of blinding light illuminating the sky. Uncertain of the source of the blasts, we speculated whether they stemmed from Iranian missiles and drones striking the city or if our air defenses were intercepting the bombs.
Our residence is situated on the fourth floor of a 300-year-old building in Talpiot, on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Amidst the chaos, we could hear cries emanating from neighboring buildings – were they merely terrified or had they suffered injuries?
My awareness of the impending attack began when I glanced at my mobile phone just after 7 pm on Saturday evening. Reacting swiftly, David hurried to the local shop for essentials, where he encountered a frenzy of panic-buying.
Attempting to maintain composure, Eden’s distress was palpable as she cried persistently. Eventually, exhaustion overcame her, yet tension lingered in the air. I remained vigilant beside her crib, prepared to shield her at a moment’s notice.
The piercing sound of sirens shattered the silence, signaling imminent danger. With no bomb shelter in our building, we heeded the official advice to seek refuge within 90 seconds in the stairwell on the ground floor – deemed the safest location during an attack.
Gathering our to-go bags containing passports, phones, and essentials, we joined our neighbors in the cramped space beneath the stairs. Clad in nightwear and dressing gowns, around 30 individuals from eight apartments, including families with young children and teenagers, sought solace together.
While the adults endeavored to remain composed, the children were overwhelmed with fear, their cries echoing in the confined space. Holding Eden close, I attempted to steady my nerves, while David trembled uncontrollably, embracing us both with a palpable sense of responsibility to safeguard our family.
Amidst the collective tension, a profound silence enveloped us as we prayed and awaited the resumption of sirens. There was no exchange of words, only the weight of uncertainty and concern for loved ones weighed heavily upon us.
Following the cessation of sirens, the absence of an official “all clear” alert left us in a state of limbo, awaiting confirmation of safety. The subsequent 15 minutes felt interminable, fraught with apprehension and trepidation.
Upon returning to our apartment unscathed, a wave of relief washed over us, followed by an overwhelming sense of sadness. Clinging to each other, we allowed ourselves to release pent-up emotions, before attempting to regain composure and prepare for the possibility of further attacks.
