State of Emergency

Between June 17 and June 20, Birthright safely evacuated almost 3,000 American kids, in the midst of daily bombings, and funded the entire operation. It was an astounding feat. Here's our story.

On June 13^th at 7:40 pm local time in Chicago, I received a WhatsApp text from my nineteen-year-old son Matthew who was in Israel:

You’ve probably heard what’s happening now I am safe in the subway

I was out to dinner with friends and had just gotten an alert saying that Israel had preemptively struck Iran as part of its ongoing war that started on October 7^th almost two years ago. I believe wholeheartedly in Israel’s right to defend itself with all the military might that implies... but my baby boy was there, right in Tel Aviv.

I replied:

I love you so much!! Stay safe. Let me know what’s happening!! Did they knock out their nuclear facilities? Are you feeling ok?

Matthew:

Yeah all good

That’s Matthew, all good, all the time. I was blessed over the next 10 days to have a child who repeatedly and consistently assured me he was “all good.” “I’m chill mom,” he’d text over and over again, as I asked, “How are you really?”

He explained through text that on that first night, at around 2 am, he was leaving a bar with friends when he saw people running in the streets to the subway, which isn’t yet finished, but which they unlocked to make it available as a shelter. Intuitively, he followed them. While down there, Matthew received an alert on his phone that there was a state of emergency, and nervous Israelis around him were talking about Iran. Matthew did admit to a moment’s panic at that point; Israelis are as cool as they come when dealing with sirens and missiles, but Iran is a beast of a different nature. They remained in the shelter for an hour, getting news of Israel having struck nuclear facilities and homes of military officials, bombing ongoing. They were warned to prepare for an imminent retaliatory attack from Tehran.

At 8:12 pm local time, Matthew texted me:

Wonder if the airports will open anytime soon

And thus began his journey of what was ultimately an emergency evacuation from a country being bombed nightly, with hostile neighbors on its land borders and airspace that was closed.

Let’s go back three weeks to when Rick and I were visiting Israel, having the most magnificent trip of our lives. It was my first time back since I lived there 32 years ago and Rick’s first time ever. We toured much of the country, spent time with old friends, hung out on the beach and met up with Matthew, who arrived at the same time as us, first on Birthright and then planning to remain for another two months on Onward. The country was calm, the mood was festive, we never felt unsafe. (See, Israel Uncensored). Israel has been at war for almost two years, but we felt no effects of this other than sirens about every other night, which Israelis either ignored or acknowledged halfheartedly by pausing their activities to mosey over to a nearby building (not an actual shelter). Rick and I returned home less than a week before the June 13^th escalation.

Throughout that first night and into the next day, I advised Matthew to keep his phone fully charged, to sleep whenever he can and to call me at any time of the day or night. He replied back that he’d showered, and they were going out for pizza.

Looks like a normal day outside Onward says we aren’t allowed to go to the beach though for some reason

Like I said, Matthew was all good, chill. I continued spewing meaningless advice: make sure you know how to get to an underground shelter, stairwells aren’t good enough anymore; sleep with your passport on your body; go to bed in your clothes; make sure you have a plan with your friends about the safest place to be!

He replied:

We prolly just chilling in the apartment and buying vodka for later

Wait, what??

Me:

Do NOT get drunk!! You have to be alert!!

He assured me he wouldn’t and two hours later, he was texting from a bomb shelter. This was the first night that Tel Aviv suffered a bunch of hits. The ballistic missiles, being launched by the hundreds from Tehran, were either getting through the Iron Dome or the falling debris caused by them was big enough to cause significant damage in residential areas. Just having returned from Tel Aviv, I scrutinized the live footage on the news trying to figure out if any of the hits were near where I knew Matthew was. I didn’t think so, but he texted that he was hearing explosions. I asked him how he was.

I’m chilling

Me:

Keep charging your phone. The bombs look like they fell east of you. Stay safe!! Try to sleep before more sirens. Sleep in clothes. Charge phone. Are you back in the shelter? Are you ok?? Is it scary for you??

Him:

All good. Just chilling in the shelter

Me:

But are you feeling ok? Not getting freaked?

Him:

No im good

Matthew spent eight and a half hours in and out of the shelter that night. At 5:44 am Israel time on Saturday, Matthew said he was going to try to get some sleep. One minute later, another siren sent him back to the shelter.

By midday for him, he informed me that Onward was moving their group out of Tel Aviv to a hotel at the Dead Sea where it’s been quiet. They were told to pack up everything. Uh oh... While I was relieved he would be out of Tel Aviv, which was taking the brunt of the aerial attack, I suspected he wouldn’t be returning and the IDF knew this wouldn’t be ending anytime soon. My heart broke for Matthew who, in his chillness, didn’t want to leave. He wanted to ride this out and return to Tel Aviv.

I’m so sorry this is happening. It’ll be hot at the Dead Sea. Wear sunscreen all the time!!! Keep me updated. Keep your phone charged. You have your passport with you at all times, right? I love you soooo much!!

At the Dead Sea, there were no sirens since that area wasn’t being targeted, so Matthew went to the rooftop with his friends when they got alerts on their phones and took videos of the barrage of missiles and anti-missile interceptors happening to their north.

The next morning, on Sunday:

Tell dad I say happy Father’s Day, my texts aren’t going through to him

Monday morning was when it changed for me. Matthew texted:

We have a meeting in an hour they won’t tell us what it’s about

My stomach dropped. This wasn’t just a quick strike and the Israeli government/IDF wanted the American kids out. They were going to evacuate them; I knew it in my gut. The Mossad part of my brain speculated that maybe they’d cross the southern border with Egypt by bus and fly them out of Cairo where there were El Al planes secretly waiting. You’d imagine I’d be happy, elated even. Matthew would be coming home! But I was heartbroken. For Matthew who would have no choice but to leave. For all the Israelis who have no choice but to stay and take whatever Iran sends their way. There was no joy in this news. Three hours later, Matthew informed me they’d be leaving by boat to Cyprus, but he didn’t know when. I texted:

Are you sad to leave?

Him:

Yeah

Me:

I’m sad too.

Him:

They said if we want to stay we could but we would have to find our own housing. The program is being canceled and our housing is canceled and so is our return flight. What do you think I want to stay but I’ll do what you want me to do

I must admit that I gave pause to the choice he was offering me. When I was his age, I would’ve said the same exact thing. When you’re nineteen or twenty and you love Israel, you become fearless in a way that’s irrational. Not only are you young and stupid in general, but you believe with all your soul that Israel will protect you against any and all harm. The sheer might of the IDF, reinforced shelters for every single citizen, the Iron Dome, David’s Sling, the Arrow, their superior Airforce that can strike undeterred in Iran’s defenseless skies. Nothing can penetrate. But missiles were penetrating, and Matthew was being offered a way home with the protection of his group. If he stayed, he’d be on his own. I knew there was no choice, but it broke my heart all the same when I replied:

I think you have to come home. It’s too dangerous to be there on your own.

Matthew’s next text was jarring because it’s exactly what I was thinking.

I’m really nervous about the boat back not gonna lie I feel like I am safer if I stay near a shelter

Yeah, me too. But instead, I texted:

I think you should plan to leave with the group. It’s just too scary for you to stay on your own. I’m sorry. You’ll be back. I promise.

Him:

Yeah I’ll leave.

Over the next three days, we stayed in regular touch through text and FaceTime. I continued to ask what the mood of the group was. Are people calm? Freaking out? You’re all just waiting around to evacuate. It’s so unsettling.

People are calm we were at the Dead Sea chilling for a while the beaches are back open

You gotta hand it to Israelis. They know how to do war. They sleep in the shelters at night and hang out at the beach by day. And they manage to keep everyone calm. It’s astounding, really.

By midday Tuesday, news of the evacuation cruise ships had broken and was being splashed all over social media. On the one hand, I was relieved the kids weren’t being evacuated on rinky dink fishing boats – that's what I’d envisioned for some reason. On the other hand, WTH?

Matthew texted:

It was supposed to stay secret we don’t want Iran knowing our plan, someone leaked it so idk if we are still going

Great, I thought, as I tried my darndest to push thoughts of the Lusitania out of my mind. I texted:

I don’t think Iran wants to bring America into the war. They won’t touch boats full of American kids.

Matthew:

Yeah prolly

At this point, sleep was eluding me and on Wednesday morning, I texted Matthew at around 5 am Chicago time. He was just finishing lunch and FaceTimed me. This might just be my favorite conversation EVER.

Him: “What’s up? Why are you up so early?”

Me: "I’m having trouble sleeping.”

Him: “Why?”

Me: “Because I’m WORRIED!”

Him: “About what??”

Me: “ABOUT YOU!”

Him: “REALLY?!?”

One day, he’ll be a dad and then he’ll get it. But I realized he really was doing fine, hanging out in a hotel in the quiet desert with his friends, biding his time till he’d leave on the “party boat” (as it was now being called), and make his way home through Europe. Nothing to see here...

By Thursday, I was on pins and needles. All the waiting around was fraying my nerves and the constant news out of the area wasn’t helping. I didn’t just watch the news, I absorbed it, trying to glean clues from what they were saying about the possibility of an American strike before my boy left on the open sea the next morning. It was unnerving to say the least. All my synapses were working in overdrive. Please, please, please, I fervently prayed to the TV, don’t strike tonight. Just wait till Saturday when he’ll be in Cyprus.

I texted Matthew before he went to bed on Thursday night:

You’ll be up and leaving before we go to bed tonight. I’ll be waiting up to hear from you. Please text and let me know what’s happening. Love you so so much!!! Safest travels!!!

Him:

Tell Grandma I am doing great my text won’t send

Me:

Ok! Keep giving me updates where you are and what’s happening. I’ll be checking my phone all night. You good? Everyone calm?

Him:

Yeah did you tell Grandma I am doing good

On Friday morning at 2:15 my phone pinged:

We are on the cruise.

At 5:50 am:

We are moving now we are being escorted by Israeli and I think American naval ships with anti-aircraft guns don’t worry

Then he lost service for the remainder of the cruise and I did the only thing I could do. I waited. Almost exactly sixteen hours later, at 10:10 pm for me, sunrise for him on Saturday morning, I got the text I’d been holding my breath waiting for.

Hi just got service I see Cyprus we are almost there

He sent the most beautiful picture of the serene coastline with the sun rising over it. Exhale.

He left Cyprus for Rome that evening, where he had an overnight layover and decided to pull an all-nighter to sightsee, sending me pictures of the iconic Roman sites lit up against the backdrop of a blackened sky. He was having an epic journey. That’s when I heard that America struck Iran’s nuclear facilities with the Bunker Busters. My prayers were literally answered. Matthew was eating pizza in Piazza Navona and Israelis would now be safer than they’ve been in decades. It was a very good day indeed.

At 1:25 pm on Sunday local Chicago time, Matthew texted “Landed.” It had been ten days since his first text from the Tel Aviv subway. He’d remained calm and composed throughout and I was so proud of him. When we met him at the airport, I grabbed him and held him tight.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” I choked from behind my tears.

“I wish I was still there,” he whispered.

I know, my sweet boy, I know.