Experience of Living Through Missile Alerts in Tel Aviv Amid Ceasefire Announcement by Trump

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.