Notes From the Land: The Only Jew in the Bomb Shelter

This is the first episode in a weekly series of personal notes for paid subscribers. These stories are glimpses into the realities that define this place but often go untold. They are based on real events and described as I experienced them, but all names and all identifying details have been totally changed.

I turned the corner coming down the concrete stairs that wrap around two thick pillars outside my building. The concrete is uneven and seems more recent, but the metal trim on the railing is an original feature harking back to a building boom exactly a century ago, when Haifa was the place to be. Each floor is accessed by the stairs outside that overlook a shared courtyard facing Haifa’s industrial port.

I can hear Suzette speaking to another woman as a plume of apple-flavored smoke rises up in my direction. Most late summer evenings she sits on her balcony smoking shisha and watching TikTok lives.

Suzette was the first person in the building to speak to me earlier this summer. It was my first night in Haifa and just as I opened one of my massive suitcases that I schlepped up on the train from Jerusalem the alerts went off on my phone: ENTER A PROTECTED SPACE.