'This is an actual emergency'

Jason Turetsky '07 recounts the experience of being in Haifa last week when it came under attack by Hezbollah rockets. Read more accounts from Princetonians in the region in our "in the crossfire" blog.

HAIFA, July 13 — Two Katyusha rockets landed here, approximately five miles from my university. To be at the University of Haifa and hear that rockets fell in the Stella Maris neighborhood is like being in your dorm at Princeton and hearing that rockets fell near Quaker Bridge Mall. I came to Israel expecting plenty of hummus, hookah and chutzpah, but not Hezbollah. I just wanted to study some Hebrew; how the hell did I end up in a war zone?

For as long as I can remember I wanted to be able to speak Hebrew. My father came to the United States from Israel when he was only 10, but it's always been that when the whole family is together, Hebrew is the language of choice. Once I started taking classes in the language at Princeton, my ability to speak improved rapidly. Though I was satisfied with my progress, I knew that I had reached somewhat of a plateau. I decided that the only way to move past it would be to go to Israel, and study the language intensively in the native environment.

I was pretty excited about the prospect of going to Israel to study Hebrew for the summer. Princeton, however, did not share my enthusiasm. They told me that it was too dangerous to study in Israel. I have been traveling to this country since I was nine years old, and to be honest, I've always felt more unsafe in West Philly than in western Jerusalem.

On the third day of my program, I was in our common room with my suitemates when I heard the public address system turn on. A voice interrupted our conversation with a staccato "Nisayon, nisayon, nisayon." One of my suitemates opened his bedroom door as if he were about to run from something, and then asked me, "What the f-ck did he just say?"

"He just said 'testing, testing, testing,' " I told him.

He gave a nervous smile, and said "Your bedroom is the shelter, right? Make sure you keep it unlocked." To be honest though, when I unlocked the door, I was more worried that someone would steal my laptop than I was about actually needing to use my room as a shelter.

In Israel, every residence has one room with cement walls, and metal shutters to cover the windows in case of an attack. In my suite, my bedroom happened to be the mamad (an acronym for "protected room of the apartment"). In English we called my room "the shelter" but I'd later find out the difference between a mamad (safe room) and a miklat (shelter).

It turned out my suitemate was correct. That day, we would need our safe room. The day started off pretty normally. I tolerated five hours of Hebrew class, and then went to read the news. This was not anything unusual. In Israel, you are inundated with news constantly. You listen to the news on the radio in the taxi, you watch the news out of the corner of your eye on a TV while you're eating dinner, and when you have some free time on your break, you go to the computer to read the news. At Princeton, I use the news to procrastinate; in Israel I need the news to figure out what is going on outside my window.

So this time, when I went to read the news I saw a headline to the effect of "Hezbollah threatens to hit Haifa." I feel like my response was similar to the rest of the city's: I felt my stomach sink a little at first, and then thought to myself "Yeah, right."

The University of Haifa had one of its politics professors give the School of Overseas Students a talk on the current events. He explained to us all the reasons why Hezbollah would not try to hit Haifa. He was saying something about how they wouldn't want to waste their limited number of longer-range rockets this early in the fighting.

I stopped listening to him when I heard sirens.

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These were not the sirens that sound before a rocket falls. These were the sirens of ambulances and police cars that come after something has happened. You could hear commotion outside from the students who had been watching the news in their dorms. My friend turned to me and said, "Something happened." I think I said "maybe" and tried to pretend to myself that all the noise was nothing. I was forced to admit to myself that something did happen when one of the residential advisors ran up on the stage and whispered something in the ear of the speaker.

The lecturer informed us that the fighting in the "north" had reached Haifa. At 8:50 p.m., an announcement was made through the dorm public address system that the university would hold a meeting in 10 minutes to discuss the current situation. Less than a minute later, an announcement was made informing us that the meeting was canceled, and that we all needed to be in our safe rooms immediately. "This is an actual emergency," we were told.

As I rushed to my room, I watched two attack helicopters fly towards Lebanon. The sound of their blades spinning made me feel like I was in the beginning of some war movie. Even under the circumstances, I couldn't help but notice how beautiful the view from atop Mount Carmel was. It was only a few days earlier that I stood in the same spot telling my parents how I could see all the way to Lebanon. Now I wanted to be as far from Lebanon as possible.

By the time I got to the safe room, my suitemates were already there. We sat there for three hours. We had no Internet, and thus no idea what was going on outside. I think that was the scariest part. Cell phones were not working immediately after the rocket hit. Once they started working again, my phone began ringing. I could understand very little of what anyone was saying to me. Having your windows covered by metal shutters doesn't exactly help reception. My parents feigned calmness much better than I would have expected (not that I ever really expected to be in such a situation). I also learned from one of my Israeli family-friends that it was wrong of me to refer to the safe room as a shelter. "A shelter also protects you from direct hits," she explained, "but the type of room you're in does not." Great, I thought.

Eventually we heard a voice outside and opened the thick metal door. It announced that we were allowed to leave our safe rooms, but we weren't permitted to go outside of our apartments. We all sat in the common room trying to comprehend what had just happened and, more importantly, what might happen in the next few minutes ... hours ... days.

I didn't expect that after a day like that I'd be able to go to my room, put on some Israeli music, and do my homework for my morning class the next day. But on the other hand, what else was I supposed to do?

After Friday's class, I went south to stay in Tel Aviv for the weekend. On Sunday morning they officially canceled class as rockets continued to hit the city. Later in the week they would decide to relocate my program to the Hebrew University in Jerusalem.

Although the atmosphere in Tel Aviv is pretty much the same as it was before the fighting in the north started, I do find myself a little more on edge now. I've accepted the fact that every time I hear anything that sounds remotely like a siren, I run to turn on the news. I've gotten used to the irony of eating Lebanese hummus while watching the images of Beirut on TV. I've realized that every time I am sitting at a beach bar enjoying the scent of hookah smoke from tables around me, drinking mint lemonade with my feet in the sand and thinking about what a beautiful country this is, my thoughts will be interrupted by the sounds of Israeli helicopters flying north. And as long as they remain in sight, no matter how much we try to go on with our lives, it's hard not to think of Haifa and wonder how long this situation will last.