(Originally published in The Times of Israel)
Three weeks into the war and I'd say we are tired, weary, worried, united, committed, sometimes uplifted, and resolute. We have a routine of sorts. We've adapted.
Me: Want to go to dinner? Restaurant A or Restaurant B?
Wife: B. It's less expensive and less formal. I'd rather be interrupted and run for shelter from there.
Waitress: Can I have your phone number?
Us: Sure. Why?
Waitress: In case of a Tzeva Adom (red alert). Some customers "forget" to come back and pay after spending time in the shelter.
I've been reading an 880 page book, the biography of William F. Buckley, Jr., a seminal figure in America's modern conservative movement. I've gotten through 550 pages. Three-fourths of my reading has been done in 15 minute timeframes while sitting in the shelter up the block from our apartment. Neighbors have asked about this big, heavy book I lug up to the shelter night and day. Now there is interest in what will be finished first: the book or the war.
One of the neighbors we have gotten to know in the shelter, an upbeat woman with a Ph.D. in a science, likes to take long showers, a risky endeavor these days. She's figured out that, based on the history, the most unlikely time for missiles being aimed at us is 4:00 a.m. So she got up at 4:00 a.m. to take a long shower. A smart, or a mad, scientist.
Everyone has his or her own way of adapting to the situation. Everyone has their own tolerance for risk, for what makes them uncomfortable, and for what doesn't. It is not all logical.
We take walks in the neighborthood. We are always cognizant of where the nearest public shelter is, what apartment building might have a shelter we could use, how long it would take to run to a shelter.
It helps to use an app that plots out the nearest public shelter and how far away it is. I have it on my phone. It is red and has a person sitting under a roof with three missiles pointing down at it. It is called "Bomb Shelter." Very subtle.
