Missiles, routine, silence: Israel adjusts as war reaches heartland

A country was brought silent by war with Iran as first responders and the IDF Home Front Command deal with the impacts from Iran’s arsenal.

In Tel Aviv, a playground frames one of the missile impacts from the first day of Operation Roaring Lion. The Iranian ballistic missile slammed into a neighborhood in central Tel Aviv overnight between February 28 and March 1.

Around 40 buildings were damaged, and dozens of people were wounded. One person was killed.

By the afternoon of March 1, the various crews dispatched to respond to the disaster had cleared rubble and had the site under control. Metal barriers were installed on the streets to protect people from walking under buildings that might collapse.

Hundreds of men and women from the IDF’s Home Front Command and volunteer organizations were busy working amid the rubble and the damaged buildings.

Israelis keep going as Iranian war spreads

This is Israel on the first and second day of the war with Iran. Israelis have been through other attacks from Iran and its proxies since the October 7, 2023, massacre. Therefore, there is a sense that much of this is normal. People stay home. Essential stores remain open. Some takeaway is available at restaurants. We wait to hear where missiles have impacted.

On March 1, the country’s highways were mostly deserted. The large traffic jams that often form in areas of Route 1 from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem were nowhere to be seen. Route 6, which runs north to south, was basically a speedway, with little traffic. It was Sunday, the first day of the week, yet no one was in a hurry to get to work. Most people had been woken up several times in the night by sirens that sounded across central Israel, waking up millions.

I drove down from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv on March 1. I went through Petah Tikvah on the way. The road to get here includes Route 1, which snakes down through the Jerusalem hills, passing Sha’ar HaGai, also known in Arabic as Bab al-Wad. It was here in 1948 that Jewish troops tried to break the siege of Jerusalem. After passing the old Ottoman checkpoint on Route 1 and the British fort near Latrun, the road joins Route 6, which runs north and south. Another 20 minutes of driving brings one to the headwaters of the Yarkon, the river that runs to

Tel Aviv from the foothills that form the border with Judea and Samaria. Around 1:37 in the afternoon, I had to pause because sirens warned of an incoming attack.

The routine in Israel is that there is first a phone alert warning that missiles have been launched. Then, after several minutes, sirens usually sound as the missiles finally arrive and are intercepted. The entire experience can last 10 or 20 minutes.

The salvo that Iran fired this afternoon, between around 1:30 p.m. and 1:40 p.m., appeared quite large. Numerous interceptions, with loud percussions and explosions, could be heard and felt. When it seemed to be over, I ducked out of a shelter and saw the puffs of smoke from the interceptions. Then I made my way to Tel Aviv to view the impact of an overnight Iranian missile.

The site of the impact had churned up a street and destroyed buildings; their concrete slabs hanging and excoriated.

The explosion also damaged buildings within a radius of several hundred meters. The damage usually consisted of broken windows and, sometimes, the metal blinds that cover them. The protocol in this instance is that damage reports are taken, and first responders check up on the wounded. Later, these areas are cordoned off and boarded up.

At one bar, which seemed to attract a lot of attention, the windows and doors had been blown off by the impact, but all the wine bottles above the bar were intact in a poignant tableau. As I looked at the bar, several volunteers scurried along a balcony on the floor above, throwing down damaged parts of a window and the metal awning that had crowned it.

From Tel Aviv, I drove south, toward Tayo beach. This pretty section of sea and sand, between Bat Yam and Rishon LeTzion, still has the hallmarks of a beach that has not been completely overtaken by commercialism. There is a restaurant, a place to work out, and a boardwalk to run on.

A few people were doing their daily exercises. One person was out at sea kiteboarding. Usually, a windy day like this would bring out hordes of kiteboarders. Today, only one was braving the missiles. Another handful of people, who appeared to have been dancing all night, were also enjoying the afternoon breeze. On the boardwalk, dozens of pigeons gathered, hoping for food.

But there was no food today because there were no people. This sense that the coast was deserted, similar to the streets, evinced the quiet that has gathered over Israel since the war began on Saturday morning.

From Tayo Beach, the highways branch off, some heading south to Ashdod, others back toward Jerusalem. On the road to Jerusalem, near the Ottoman era checkpoint, the road to Beit Shemesh branches off and heads south.
I followed the road until I got to a turnoff that snakes around Beit Shemesh.

The low-lying hills here once separated the land of the ancient Israelites from the Philistines. This is the area where Judge Samson was reputed to have lived, and there is a cave in a valley here named for him. Today, this land has been well developed with all the neighborhoods stretching out around Beit Shemesh.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I drove through Beit Shemesh. In some of the Orthodox neighborhoods, children were dressing up for Purim. An Osher Ad store was full of people buying goods. Nearby was the site of an Iranian missile impact that killed nine people on March 1. It had struck a group of homes in the afternoon. The roads and streets were cordoned off around the impact site, but hundreds of people and various responders had come.

Construction equipment had been brought in to move some of the rubble and burned cars. Those cars evoked the memories and feelings of October 7. They were crushed, torn, and bent. The buildings, destroyed, damaged, and burnt, also evoked October 7. Red writing, sprayed on them to indicate that responders had checked the buildings, was also a reminder of that dark time.

A reminder of how death and destruction have become too much of a norm. Minutes before sunset, religious men gathered to recite the evening prayers. The prayers brought together all types, from soldiers to first responders, volunteers, and local people.

The hundreds of first responders were now changing shifts; some would stay on while others were leaving. Their helmets and safety gear removed, they began making their way back to vehicles parked up to two kilometers from the impact site.

Everyone had gathered quickly, but now the slow process of leaving and saying goodbye began. The sun was down. The work would go on into the night to secure the area where nine had been killed and dozens wounded.