When I was 11, Iraqi scud missiles exploded next to our home, collapsing part of our roof while I huddled together with my younger siblings on my parents’ bed wearing gas masks. This was in 1991, during the Gulf War when Israel was under attacks for the better part of January and February. I lived with my family near Tel Aviv, in an area designated ‘Zone A’ – the most likely to be hit by missiles. This wasn’t the only time I’ve experienced bombings: as an operations sergeant in the IDF, I was stationed on the border with Lebanon at a time of fierce and frequent fighting with Hezbollah; and as a civilian living in Israel during several rounds of fighting with Hamas that involved rocket attacks.
To say that I dislike loud sudden noises would be a gross understatement. I moved to the UK over a decade ago, thinking the move would be temporary.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in