In Jaffa, there is a terror attack.
The specifics are still surfacing, but we know this much: Several people have already lost their lives.
We quickly pack our equipment and safety gear into our car. Orders from New York come through as we’re leaving the hotel: Return inside. They do not want us to travel while Iran’s attack is getting closer.
The sound of sirens fills the car before my producer can even end the call. Ballistic missiles fired by Iran are aimed directly at the United States.
A missile’s journey from Iran to Israel takes around 12 minutes. Nobody knows how far along we are in those twelve minutes.
As we sprint back to the hotel, our photographer—who also serves as our driver—floors the pedal and manoeuvres through traffic.
When we return, we find ourselves in the hotel’s shelter with around twenty other people. They are mostly Israelis. A father rolls about on the ground laughing while playing with his two daughters. People are talking quietly nearby, unfazed by the possibility of about 200 ballistic missiles aimed towards Israel. A young man is standing quietly next to his girlfriend when I look over. Despite without a leg from the knee down, he maintains his composure and strength.
