Jerusalem

Little did I know on arriving here in early June that I would spend almost half of my time in the neighborhood miklat, or underground bomb shelter. But so it was, time and again, once the war with Iran suddenly broke out. I had been to Israel some 25 times before and knew the country well, but those 12 days of war revealed a part of Israeli life that was new to me: miklat culture.

Israel has developed a system of phone alerts and sirens that warn everyone in the country to take shelter when rockets and missiles are incoming. When the alarm sounds, people know it’s time to get to the closest miklat. The shelter nearest my building in Jerusalem was a fast walk of about 90 seconds. I scurried there more than 20 times, as did large numbers of other people in the neighborhood. What I witnessed and shared with them was both unnerving and uplifting.

Our miklat was underneath an apartment building, 16 stairs down from the entry point. It had thick concrete walls and heavy steel doors. When I first entered the shelter, there were 40 or 50 others. Later, there were close to 100, including babies and toddlers.

Once the all-clear siren sounded, we would all leave and head back to our living quarters, but we all knew we would soon need to rush back to the miklat. It was a menacing time.

During the 12 days of the June war, Iran fired some 550 ballistic missiles and more than 1,000 drones at Israel. The country’s elaborate air-defense system intercepted most of these, but more than 30 missiles got through and struck Tel Aviv, Haifa, Be’er Sheva and elsewhere. The Weizmann Institute in Rehovot was hit and badly damaged. Decades of scientific research disappeared in a flash. A missile landed near Tel Aviv University, shattering glass at student dormitories. Residential buildings in the Ramat Gan area were also hit. A major hospital in Be’er Sheva was struck and seriously damaged. According to medical officials, 28 Israelis were killed and more than 3,200 wounded over the course of the war. Some 13,000 were displaced when their homes were damaged by the incoming missiles.

The country was largely shut down. Worry was high. The chance to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time was low.

Through it all, everyone in the miklat remained calm, civil, even sociable. When Iranian missiles came flying in, everyone was attentive and concerned, but no one seemed to be losing it. Pet dogs could become a bit frisky and make a racket; otherwise, the mood among the shelter crowd was remarkably even-tempered. Even the children remained calm. In short order, we came to recognize one another, and the mood was amicable, sociable, polite and unpanicked.

One day, someone brought in ample servings of tiramisu and gave them out generously to all who wanted something to sweeten their stay in the miklat. Another day, marshmallows were passed around. And then cookies. Some brought prayer books and quietly prayed. Others struck up conversations with people they had never met and even extended invitations for Shabbat dinner amid the war.

One Friday afternoon, the alert sounded around 4 p.m. and off we ran to the miklat, where we experienced an unforgettably special moment amid the sirens. The shelter was packed with many dozens of people. Among them was the principal cellist of the Jerusalem Symphony, Talia Erdal. She might have run in from a practice session, for she had her cello with her, took it out of its case, and treated us to an unexpected and uplifting concert. One of her pieces was a soulful version of “Shalom Aleichem,” a prayer for peace traditionally sung on Friday evening as part of the celebration of Shabbat. Her playing was spirited and touched the hearts of everyone assembled with us in the shelter. When she performed an especially lively piece, a young woman—a regular in the miklat—began dancing to the music. We looked on with a sense of wonder that all of this could happen in an underground bomb shelter minutes after the sirens had sounded.

What an extraordinary country this is! To say the people are resilient is an understatement. They are that and a lot more.

As I learned in the miklat, one needs steady nerves to live here. Most Israelis seem to have them. Those with us in the shelter were a varied bunch—old and young, religious and secular, new arrivals and longtime citizens. But they are bound up with one another in what they know is a common fate. They are doing what they must to live in their own country and defend it against those who would run them out of here. In the face of such threats, they pull together and act as one. I saw that unity of purpose in the miklat, in acts large and small, at all hours of the day and night. It was a privilege to be with them and add whatever I could to their already strong resolve.

Mr. Rosenfeld is director of Indiana University’s Institute for the Study of Contemporary Antisemitism

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5749570&forum_id=2...id.#49096636)