Anger, hope, déjà vu and cold chicken soup: How Jerusalemites reacted to war with Iran

A range of other emotions welled to the surface as well, from pride to concern to hope, particularly as the attacks took place on Shabbat, disrupting centuries-old traditions and rituals.

People had planned their weekends differently.

E., 27, was going to host a few friends, but “we all had to cancel our plans.” The meal, which had been interrupted by sirens, ended up as a merger between her and her fiancé’s roommates.

She lamented the chicken soup she had made and was looking forward to, which got cold due to the events of the evening.

Large gatherings were prohibited, including at synagogues, but that didn’t stop grassroots groups from organizing on their own to pray.

Adam Shasha, 33, said he was told a group would be praying nearby, but that they were planning to do it as quickly as possible, and that a shelter was located down the road should they need it. As he walked over there, he saw people leaving – there weren’t enough people.

He found a different synagogue, which he said “had clearly not thought about any guidelines,” and had long prayer services, including a speech. Right in the middle of it, the sirens went off.

Shasha had his phone on him, so he heard it, “but no one else seemed to notice that it had gone off, and no one else seemed to have their phone on them, because no one else seemed to check their pockets,” which he said was “not reassuring,” but he did marvel at the timing.

He said he didn’t feel safe there, so he ducked out early, finished up his prayers on his own, and continued on to Friday night dinner.

Shasha was walking down the path near his host’s apartment at around 1 a.m., after they finished dinner, when he got an alert.

He said that nobody else seemed to have gotten it, which led to confusion among the group, confusion that was clarified a few minutes later when a siren sounded.

They were close to the shelter they had been in earlier, “so this time it was nice and easy to get to.”

When they got there, there were people sleeping in both shelter rooms already.

Lauren Adilev, 57, never made it to the shelter during the first salvo on Thursday night.

“I got up, drank water, and went back to bed.” Her husband had a complicated medical surgery the day before. They spent the whole day in the hospital, which was “physically exhausting, and I was so worried... [it’s] emotionally taxing,” she explained.

With her husband still in the hospital on Friday morning, she grew concerned for his state. “Had he been moved from [his floor]? Would security let me in?”

By E.’s estimate, her dinner group was the only one that stayed in the shelter the entire required time.

“There were a lot of unknowns; we had our phones with us for updates. It was so unclear what to do,” as the Home Front Command guidelines were confusing at first.

At Shasha’s dinner, they were waiting for two more people to join when the next warning sirens went off. One more joined before the sirens blasted, sending them to the shelter.

Security arrangements at his host’s place were such that they could only go to the inside stairwell. So, they ran to the public shelter located a few minutes’ walk away.

We “had [a] great view of some rockets,” and someone offered them wine and some food for the traditional Friday night dinner.

He said this was a “good start, but we were still starving” at that point.

In the shelter, after about 45 minutes, someone came over and offered them fish and moussaka. “I eventually took some fish, I really wanted to try his moussaka, but I was too English to take it, too.” They got the all clear soon after.

He said the time in the shelter was “interesting,” that there were mattresses, books on shelves, and that people left to stock up on food and returned to the shelter, even offering it around.

They finally sat down to eat at around 10:30 p.m., and only finished toward 1 a.m., Saturday morning.

Adilev lit Shabbat candles with her husband in the hospital. “I was relieved to be with [him as he] gradually gained strength throughout the day,” she said.

Michal (name changed to protect her privacy), too, made it to her shelter, where she said “there was too much going on to be able to focus.”

She explained that her weekend was “hard, [with] so many mixed emotions.”

She said she was “proud of my country for stopping Iran in their nuclear endeavors, taking the risk on behalf of the world, knowing that the longer-term gains and safety for everyone are better.”

Yet, the anxieties of the reality of constant and unpredictable aerial threats didn’t lessen.

“When will Iran attack? Will I wake up? Is my safe room safe enough? Can I go for a walk? Are there any casualties or fatalities?”

Some were angry and exasperated that, in a broader global fight, the people that lose the most are the citizens. Adilev said she wasn’t overwhelmed by the sirens, “certainly not afraid,” but, rather, angry. She feels that “there was no need to attack Iran and do the dirty work for [US President Donald] Trump,” and asserted that the broader fight against Iran is not just Israel’s, yet the Jewish state and its citizens must now suffer for the move against Tehran.

“Iran isn’t stupid. They recognize that if they launch one nuclear missile, America will destroy them. It is utterly cruel and ridiculous to hold every citizen hostage, preventing us from flying out.”

Her son, who is now 18, “lost his bar mitzvah to COVID, and now he’s losing his high school graduation ceremony!”

One woman, who wished to remain anonymous, said the weekend was “hard” with “so many mixed emotions.”

Adilev hearkened back to the October 7 attacks, which changed Israeli society forever, and which had so many experiential similarities to today.

“I believe that on October 7 the government declared every Jewish citizen to be hefker (abandoned).”

She called for the government to be replaced. “Israel must be governed by people who believe in our right to [the land]” and can be strong against the rest of the world, she said.

She added, “I know [this] is emotional, but I don’t care. I’ve been in Israel since the ’80s, and the economic and security situations have deteriorated significantly. Shouldn’t these factors improve as a country develops from inception?... For shame!”

For Michal, “the sense of threat” is different this time around, different from what reality has been like since October 7.

Yet she said that having been abroad for one of the Iranian aerial attacks, and in Israel for this one, “there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

She elaborated that, in a sense, the stress for concerned Israelis and Jews outside of Israel is different, because all they are seeing are headlines that tell them bad news. “They are not feeling the vibe of being together, of the unity, of trying to continue life as normal [while] being sensible, along with the anxiety that comes with [being under attack]. So, it’s mixed.”

She said that she feels a sense of “gratefulness; in everyday life there are so many blessings to count, but at times like these, you’re reminded to count even the smallest things.”

Her concluding thought was a prayer for peace, “peace, respect and unity amongst the nations of the world.”