The nights have grown long. Or rather: they are fragmented, torn apart by alarms and app notifications that rip us from sleep like sirens in a nightmare. No sooner do you drift off than the phone screeches, and the Home Front Command’s warning flashes on the screen: “Missile alert – seek shelter.” Then the siren wails. And we run. Always to the same room: our youngest son’s. It’s the safest place in our apartment.

It all began last Friday night. Around three in the morning, the sirens suddenly blared—but there were no rockets. At first, we were confused. Then it became clear: These alarms were a kind of wake-up call. Israel’s attack on Iran’s nuclear facilities had begun, and the sirens weren’t a warning but a signal to prepare. With a single tone, the authorities told us: “It’s starting. Get ready. Iran will retaliate.”

And we did. That same night, we began equipping our shelter as best we could. We gathered water bottles, snacks, flashlights, portable chargers, batteries—everything that might help us spend...

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