Our First Siren

Because you never forget your first time.

Last night I hired our favorite baby sitter to come over, so I could meet a friend for dinner and celebrate my birthday, belatedly.  Unusual for Raphaela, she grabbed at my leg and begged me not to leave her, and I could hear her crying even as I drove away from the building.

As a joke during the meal, I speculated that perhaps my daughter is spiritually connected to the Universe, that she knows something we don't know and that we should expect terror attacks and bombing in Jerusalem again.  Then I considered calling the sitter and explain to her vis a vis the location of our bomb shelter, because I didn't want Raphaela to feel that her care-taker IE NOT Mommy could not handle the stress of the situation.

I came home around ten pm, sent the sitter home, stripped down to almost nothing because of the sticky humidity of Jerusalem, and crawled into bed.  At 11:45 pm, the sound of  sirens filled the streets of Jerusalem and in fact most of the country, and it was the first time that I and Raphaela has been in Israel for such an event.

Mostly naked, I searched frantically for some version of a shirt, grabbed Raphaela and a set of keys, and together in pajamas and shoe-less we ran downstairs to the bomb shelter, leaving our cat Harry upstairs crying and having to fend for himself.  For ten minutes all the neighbors ignored the obvious, like the Crazy Old Lady wearing a great pair of blue silk pajamas;  a French man in his 20's wearing just a towel; me without pants etc.  Much of the laughter and conversation took place in French, and then we all trudged back upstairs, each to our own houses.

I immediately pulled out my iPhone to reactivate the Red Alert app, and emailed my family to let them know that the bombing passed without incident.

Raphaela, still half groggy, made some incoherent statements about her "brain working," and then slept the rest of the night in my bed, never letting go of my arm for even an instant.