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There’s no mistaking the sound of the alarm. A blaring noise so loud it could wake you from the deepest sleep. Our phones start shaking and screeching at 5.12am, warning that missiles are on their way from Iran. “Extreme alert,” reads the text message flashing on the screen. “Alerts are expected in a few minutes. Find the best protection around.” Outside, the sun is beginning to rise above Tel Aviv, this cosmopolitan city by the sea that is the hub of Israeli economic and technological activity.
Bleary-eyed and waiting for the alert itself to begin, I turn on the television. The cable news headlines are blasting that US President Donald Trump has announced a ceasefire between Israel and Iran. A few minutes later, the intercom system in our hotel instructs us to head quickly to the nearest bomb shelter. It’s a surreal moment. If a ceasefire is in place, it certainly doesn’t feel like it here.
Sitting in the shelter, we scroll social media for updates. Israel’s air defence system – including the famed Iron Dome – is remarkably effective at blocking incoming drone and missile attacks. But it is not foolproof. We learn at least four people have died in the southern city of Beersheba, about an hour’s drive away. After around 10 minutes waiting in the shelter, the intercom sounds, telling us we can return to our rooms. I jump into the shower. As soon as the water starts running, an alert goes off again. I grab the nearest clothes and return to the shelter. Soon, my phone lock screen is full of alarm messages. “Rocket and missile fire: Enter the protected space in Tel Aviv City centre,” they read. “Time of arrival to the protected room 1½ minutes.”
Over the next two hours we shuttle back and forth to the nearest shelter, a minimalist room on our floor with chairs, some mattresses and lockers to store belongings. By 7am, almost two hours since they began, the strikes are over.
Heightening the strange sensation, it’s a gorgeous morning in Tel Aviv. Twenty-six degrees, a breeze drifting in from the ocean, sun ablaze in the cerulean sky. It’s quieter than normal outside, but just a block from the hotel, there are unfazed locals surfing in the ocean, riding their bikes and walking their dogs along the beachside promenade. An Israeli flag flutters in the wind.
A row of tour buses is parked outside the hotel, preparing to help evacuate Australians and Canadians who want to flee Israel. The underground conference centre, where weddings and other functions are usually held, is being used as a processing centre. Australia’s ambassador to Israel, Ralph King, is overseeing the evacuation effort, wearing a blue Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade polo shirt. Around 120 people are expected to be on the flight to Dubai, but in this volatile climate, nothing is certain. Yesterday’s planned evacuation flight had to be cancelled.
Among those queuing up for a blue wristband granting a seat on an evacuation flight are Melbourne parents Ilana and Levi Lewis, cradling their two children, aged two years and four months. They came to Ashkelon, in southern Israel, to visit family and have spent the past two weeks sleeping in bunk beds in a bomb shelter as Israel and Iran have traded rocket fire. The Lewis’ relatives in Australia, watching the news from the Middle East, are desperate for them to return home. “They’ve been messaging us, they are very worried,” Ilana says. “It’s been very stressful. We wanted to get out as soon as we can.”
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For others, it’s a more complicated decision. Many of those who have expressed an interest in leaving are Israeli-Australian dual nationals, and some have deeper ties in Israel than Australia. Some Australians arrived at the hotel this morning intending to go, but decided they did not want to leave Israel. As with the evacuation of Australians from Beirut during last year’s war between Israel and Hezbollah, the no-show rate has been high.
Vivien, a Jewish woman from Sydney’s eastern suburbs, is trying to return home after spending two weeks volunteering with the Women’s International Zionist Organisation at a farming co-operative near Haifa in the country’s north. Aged in her 60s, she says she feels transformed by what she has experienced in Israel, her first visit since her student days. “In Australia, we live in an isolation chamber,” she says, describing the relative sense of safety and security at home.
A man waits inside a bomb shelter during air raid in Tel Aviv on Tuesday.Credit: Kate Geraghty
Praising Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s decision to attack Iran’s nuclear facilities and kill top Iranian military leaders, she says: “The world needs to recognise Israel for what it is doing for them … We need to avoid a nuclear war.”
Nearby, two men are saying morning prayers and wrapping leather straps around their arms, an ancient Jewish ritual known as tefillin. They had hoped to travel on yesterday’s cancelled evacuation flight and are nervously awaiting confirmation that they can get out today.
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As the buses of hopeful evacuees leave the hotel for the airport and pass along the seashore, the Israeli government issues a statement announcing it has achieved its primary war goals and has agreed to a ceasefire with Iran.
Less than an hour after the announcement, warning alerts begin sounding throughout the north of the country, sending Israelis scampering to bomb shelters once again. Accusing Iran of breaching the truce agreement by firing missiles into Israel, Defence Minister Israel Katz quickly announces he has instructed the Israeli military to “continue the intense activity of attacking Tehran”. For all the talk of a ceasefire, today the conflict has felt very real.
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