Why we’re ready for nuclear war, but not for an open sewer cover

Between patriotism and the scent of vinegar

Let’s speak honestly for a moment – without the heroic poses and the “we’re all mobilized” theatrics.

Yes, a war with Iran is stressful.
But not nearly as stressful as finding yourself sitting in the neighborhood bomb shelter on a broken plastic chair, under a flickering fluorescent light, above a cracked concrete floor, and on top of a rug that smells like a logistics officer on a sabbatical.

Sure, there’s a nuclear threat.
Yes, hypersonic missiles are racing toward us.

But has anyone seriously asked the real question?

What’s more disturbing – the missile itself, or the mold creeping up the walls of a public shelter that hasn’t been opened since the Gulf War?

War and the Shelter: A Love Story of a Nation That Learned Nothing

For decades they told us:
Work hard. Buy an apartment. Save for retirement. Vote for the right party.
You’ll have a safe corner in this world.

What they didn’t mention is that, in the moment of truth, that “safe corner” would include:

• A kindergarten mattress from 1997
• Four bottles of water left over from Operation Protective Edge
• And an open pack of “Taste of Home” biscuits with a best-before date that feels… optimistic

It’s not that the state didn’t prepare.
It prepared – absolutely.
Just not for human beings.

More like for ants with chronic lung issues.

The Smell of Emergency: What Mold and Trauma Have in Common

Scientists say smell is the sense most closely linked to memory.

In Israel, every siren doesn’t just trigger fear –
it triggers the aroma of an abandoned shelter:

A sour blend of damp concrete, mold, a cat that somehow found its way in, and a 12-year-old open bag of Bamba.

And it always comes in stages.

First, the siren.
Then the heavy door creaking open.
And then – boom.

A cloud of air that smells like early-2000s politics.

Who Neglected the Shelter – and What Does the Building Committee Have to Do with It?

Let’s return to reality for a moment.

Deterrence? Great.
Iron Dome? Amazing.
German submarines? Lovely.

But who’s supposed to clean the shelter?

The Ministry of Defense?
Home Front Command?

God forbid.

It’s the building committee.

Meaning: Hanna from the first floor and Yoram the retiree, who still hasn’t forgiven her for cutting in line for the elevator in 2013.

You want to fight the ayatollahs?
Start by solving the parking dispute between Apartment 3 and Apartment 5.

Because until that’s resolved, no one is bringing a mop downstairs.

Emergency Equipment – or an ’80s Vintage Exhibition?

Have you actually checked what’s in your shelter?

Because chances are you’ll find:

• A TV the size of a microwave (CRT, obviously)
• Disposable cups from a health fund that no longer exists
• A CD titled “Greatest Airline Hits”
• And on a shelf… half an apple. Belonging to someone. From some time.

The state built Iron Dome –
but forgot to remove the rug that’s been absorbing moisture since the inflation era.

Shelter Psychology: Why All Arguments Start There

Maybe it’s the smell.
Maybe it’s the crowding.

But there’s no place where Israelis become less united than the bomb shelter.

“Who brought a dog? They said no dogs!”
“He’s not a dog – he’s family!”
“Who took my outlet?”
“Why do they get a beanbag and I’m stuck with a crate of plums?!”

If you’ve never heard screaming in a shelter,
you probably live in a neighborhood with more cats than people.

Missiles Aren’t What They Used to Be

Once upon a time, a missile was just a missile.

Today it’s a sensor, a navigation system, GPS-guided, remotely controlled, smart, precise, sleek.

But the shelter?

The same concrete hole.
The same lime-painted walls.
A child’s drawing that says “Operation Cast Lead.”
And a sense of time frozen somewhere between Arik Einstein and Uzi Hitman.

So What’s Really More Disturbing?

Missiles are scary.
Iran is threatening.

But anyone who’s spent an hour and a half in a shelter with:

• 11 neighbors
• Two babies
• An electric rice cooker
• And a small radio yelling “The alert has ended – you may exit” every five minutes

will tell you the truth:

The most dangerous thing in this war
is that the mold in the shelter will come out of it with more public presence than the Chief of Staff.

In Short:

Keep the gas masks.
Keep the cholent pot.
Keep the optimism.

But most importantly –
buy an air freshener.

Preferably a nuclear one.