From the Bomb Shelter: Operation Rising Lion

As I write these words, Israel is engaged in an existential war against Iran. When it became clear that Iran had taken the final step toward developing a nuclear weapon, Israel launched a pre-emptive strike. The Israeli Air Force (IAF) first dismantled the remaining Iranian air defense systems, achieving complete air dominance. Since the war began on Thursday, Iran’s military leadership has been decimated, its largest nuclear enrichment facility in Natanz destroyed, and its missile and drone production capabilities severely crippled. The IAF is now targeting the nuclear facility in Fordow and has also struck oil refineries—partly to demonstrate its reach. Iran has responded with indiscriminate missile barrages, killing nearly 20 Israeli civilians. However, it’s clear that these are the dying gasps of a regime on the brink of defeat, with few remaining options.

But I don’t want to focus solely on that today. You’ve already heard so much. What more can I add? The news cycle moves too quickly—so quickly that, as the Israeli saying goes, tomorrow’s fish will be wrapped in today’s newspaper. Instead, I want to answer a question I have been asked dozens of times since Thursday night: “How are you doing, Ari? How is your family?” I want to share my personal perspective—as a rocket scientist who, since Thursday night, has been enduring the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

The alarm went off at 3:00 a.m. on Thursday night. No one was shooting at us yet, but it was clear that they soon would be. My wife and 17-year-old daughter went downstairs into the bomb shelter. The Home Front Command informed us that the IAF had attacked Iran and instructed us to remain in shelters for the rest of the night. We watched the news roll in—images of assassinated Iranian generals and nuclear scientists, and footage of Iran’s prized nuclear enrichment plant in Natanz, once considered untouchable, in flames. We tried to sleep, but only managed a few restless hours. Thus began a series of sleepless nights.

Friday felt surreal. We knew what was coming. While we watched IAF jets intercept trucks carrying Iranian ballistic missiles, we also knew many more were waiting to be launched. Two of my daughters came to stay with us indefinitely. Neither has a bomb shelter, and both of their husbands had been called up for military service. Between them, they have seven children under the age of twelve—including two infants. Ten people, one dog, and a 100-square-foot bomb shelter and bedroom. We weren’t alone; many families in our town were in the same situation.

When Shabbat began, we turned off all our phones except one, which my wife would use to notify the designated town contact that we were in the shelter. The Iranians began firing around 9:00 p.m. There were five alarms. Initially, alerts were issued around the country, but as the missiles approached, warnings became more localized. Three alarms were relevant to our area. Each time the alarm sounded, we rushed to the shelter. The children woke up crying, the babies screamed, and I sat helpless in the corner. We managed maybe three 90-minute stretches of sleep. Much of Shabbat was spent in zombie mode.

While Shabbat day was quiet, Saturday night was not. Our first trip to the shelter came around 1:00 a.m. The north of Israel was targeted by 100 Iranian missiles, each carrying half a ton of explosives. Valid military targets in the north include RAFAEL factories in Haifa Bay and the Western Galilee, Haifa Port (home to much of the Israeli Navy), and a major oil refinery. None of these were hit. Instead, Iran deliberately targeted civilians—because it’s easier, and because they know how much Israelis value life.

The IAF intercepted about 90% of the missiles, but around ten got through. One struck a house in Tamra, an Arab town just five miles from my home. Even from our shelter, we felt the house shake. We were listening to intercepts, but I knew immediately that this boom was a direct hit. That’s when some of the adults in our shelter lost their composure. In that moment, you feel your own fragility. “There but for the grace of G-d go I.”

The missile hit a home, killing four people: Manar Khatib, her daughters Hala (20) and Shada (13), and another relative also named Manar Khatib. All were Israeli Arabs, killed simply because they chose to live freely in a Jewish state. Their religion is irrelevant, and they will be mourned along with every other Israeli killed in this war. We remained in the shelter for an hour until the Home Front Command gave the all-clear.

The next barrage targeted central Israel. This time, we in the north were spared. But others weren’t so lucky. A missile struck a neighborhood in Bat Yam, a Tel Aviv suburb. As I write this, the death toll is uncertain—some victims remain buried under rubble. The current estimate is ten, but that number may rise. Iran’s Foreign Minister claimed we were being “punished” for our actions. Strong words from someone who must know he’s high on the IAF’s list of targets.

This morning, my neighbor and longtime friend called me over. He showed me a foot-long metal slug embedded in his deck. The roof above it was damaged, suggesting it was debris from an intercepted missile—likely one aimed at Tamra. It looked like a gas valve. I immediately sent a photo to a safety expert at RAFAEL, who confirmed my suspicion and advised calling the police. They arrived within ten minutes, removed the debris, and checked for explosives. The police left and my neighbor filed an insurance claim. Just another day at the office. I told him that if that piece of metal had hit a person, it would have been fatal. This is why we wait for the all-clear before leaving the shelter.

Today, my entire family is walking around like zombies. After three sleepless nights, who can blame us? And there’s no reason to think tonight will be any different. All workplaces are closed. I’m working from home while my wife tries to entertain the grandchildren. On the news, I see a burnt-out centrifuge factory in Isfahan and reports of an Iranian AI scientist killed in Tehran. The IAF has already resumed attacks on Shiraz. We are taking Iran apart piece by piece and there is really nothing they can do to stop us. But boy is the road bumpy. I need to catch a few winks so I can help my wife manage the bomb shelter tonight.

We, the citizens of Israel, understand that this war was forced upon us. We’ve defeated all of Iran’s proxies. Now it’s time to cut off the head of the snake. We know that victory is the only real outcome. We know it will take time, and we’re prepared to do our part. It won’t be easy. But we know you’re out there—supporting us, praying for us. So please forgive me if I don’t respond to your emails as quickly as usual. Things are a bit hectic around here.

Good things,

Ari Sacher