The ״Bells״ of War

Over the past week, two distinct sounds have ruled our days, and the rhythm of our nights has changed.

One is the familiar yet viscerally alarming “Emergency Alert” that blares from our phones as a ~10 minute advanced warning that a missile barrage is on its way from Iran to our area. For those tuning in from the US, imagine an Amber Alert on steroids, except Amber is a ballistic missile. 

10, maybe 5, maybe 7, maybe 2 minutes later, the second sound comes. You first hear it faintly in the distance, then your phone chimes in. The real siren. If you’re in Tel Aviv, you have 90 seconds to get to shelter. Often the booms start sooner. 

Most evenings now end with the same anticipation: If the siren comes without warning, will we make it? 

Shira and I are one of the unfortunate Israelis who don’t have a mamad (home shelter) or miklat (basement shelter). We live on the third floor of our building (no elevator), and the nearest public shelter is about a block away. So when we hear an alarm of any kind, there no time to think. In the middle of the night, we are jolted awake, jump up, throw on whatever is closest, rush down three flights of stairs, and head outside into the street. 

The night air is crisp this time of year. Lights flicker on in nearby apartments as neighbors do the same mental math. You can see clusters of people emerging from buildings half-dressed, some carrying children, others still trying to shake off sleep. There is a quiet urgency to it. No panic, but also no hesitation.

Sometimes you look up into the night sky and see a shooting star that inspires awe, and then terror, when you realize it’s a missile.

By now, we know exactly which shelter offers the best conditions: the least amount of annoying dogs, the most chairs, and the cleanest floors. Our shelter of choice offers kiddy chairs, dogs in grocery bags, and glitter scattered across the floor. Sign up now! This bunkered room has become a familiar part of our life as the days of war drag on.

As I close in on my sixth year living in Israel, another round of fighting has become pretty expected at this point. For a good portion of these years, I’ve spent time in uniform as an active soldier and subsequently as a reservist. Surprisingly, I haven’t received a call-up for this current war…at least not yet. (Shira is very happy about that.)

Like many others, I’ve remained in my civilian role. But in Israel, that

distinction between civilian and national service often feels thinner than it might elsewhere.

For the past year, I’ve been working in Israel’s defense technology sector at ParaZero, a startup focused on counter-drone systems. Before moving here, I probably would have thought of Israeli defense companies as massive organizations working somewhere in the background of geopolitical headlines.

Living here changed that perspective.

In Israel, defense technology isn’t an abstract industry. It is something that exists because of the very real threats the country faces, and because the people developing these technologies often live under the same conditions as the soldiers and civilians they are trying to protect. This has created a hot house of defensetech startups popping up left and right.

In recent years, one of the biggest changes in warfare has been the rise of small drones. In Ukraine, in Gaza, and in conflicts around the world, relatively cheap unmanned systems have reshaped how battles are fought. A device that costs a few hundred dollars can suddenly threaten soldiers, critical infrastructure, and even civilians in urban areas.

It’s a reality that would have sounded like science fiction not long ago.

This week I wrote about that shift in an article published in the Jerusalem Post (click here). The piece focused on how the modern battlefield is forcing militaries to rethink defense – specifically how economic asymmetry will be what determines the outcome of future conflicts.  

I wrote that article 2 weeks before this recent outbreak of war. 

When you spend your nights running to a shelter, conversations about defense technology stop feeling abstract. You realize that behind every interception system, every warning alert, every protective layer, there are people who have spent years trying to anticipate the threats that might one day appear.

And then, when those threats do appear, the work suddenly matters in a way that is impossible to ignore.

One of the things I’ve come to appreciate about living in Israel is how strongly people here feel that sense of responsibility. It isn’t limited to the military. Of course the soldiers and reservists carry an enormous burden, and watching friends leave their normal lives behind to report for duty is a reminder of just how fragile security can be.

But there is also an entire ecosystem of people whose roles exist in the background. People designing the systems, testing them, and figuring out how to get them to the units that need them now.

Working in this environment has changed the way I think about what it means to contribute. Growing up, the idea of serving a country was often tied to a specific image: wearing a uniform, standing on a battlefield, defending a border.

That image still matters, of course. And if the call ever comes for reserve duty, I would answer it without hesitation.

But living here has shown me that the story is more complex than that.

Sometimes the “battlefield” is an office building. Sometimes the “frontline” is the Tel Aviv skyline housing some of the most advanced defensetech startups in the world. 

But as Shira and I sit in the shelter waiting for the “all clear”, I’ve realized how fortunate I am to be part of a society where the work people do every day is tied directly to something that truly matters.