Labor and Missiles

It was just after dawn when the first call came in.

Erev Pesach. One of the busiest mornings of the Jewish year. Most people were thinking about the Seder, about last minute preparations, about getting through the day in time to sit down with family that night. And then, in a single moment, all of that fell away.

The alert was clear. A direct impact. A building reduced to ruin. Multiple casualties.

There is a certain kind of call that leaves no room for anything else. No brain bandwidth for superfluous thoughts or distractions. Just the job in front of you and the understanding that people need help now.

As I made my way to the scene I began to get prepared for what was about to start. I began to run the scenario in my mind. How many people were affected? Were there anybody trapped inside? How serious were the injuries? You ask so many questions, but you know you won’t have answers until you arrive.

Another thing I have learned in the years since joining United Hatzalah is not to rush ahead to any conclusions or try to absorb everything all at once. Inevitably you lose focus, get caught in details and in general get slowed down. So you narrow it down. You take in the details you can see in front of yourself. And then you get started doing what is needed until the next thing needs to be done.

When I arrived, this  is what I saw for myself. The building had collapsed inward. Not entirely gone, but no longer a place anyone could live. Layers of concrete had fallen into each other. Windows blown out. Dust suspended in the air, as if it had nowhere to settle.

People were everywhere. Some shouting names. Some standing still, trying to understand what had just happened. Others already moving, already helping. A young girl critically injured. Many more in need of medical and psychological first aid.

But that is not the part of the day that I want to tell you.

What I want to tell you is what happened as things began to settle, after the immediate chaos of that first scene had passed.

As we prepared to return to our regularly scheduled routine, another responder, Eli Fishman asked if I could go with him to pick up his ambucycle from the mechanic. It was a simple request, the kind that happens all the time between volunteers.

While we were on the way, thats when it happened again. Another alert. More incoming missiles. Another reminder that the day was far from over.

Protocol is clear in those moments. Find shelter quickly. Protect yourselves. Wait for the all clear.

But then things got even more complicated. As we prepared to seek cover from the next missil another call came through. A woman in labor, just a few minutes from where we were.

We looked at each other and understood without saying much. We could make it. Get there, find cover and help all at the same time.

So we drove.

When we arrived, there was no time for deliberation. The woman was already in advanced labor. The baby was crowning.

There are moments when the decision is made for you.

We found an old couch and turned it into what we needed it to be. There was no delivery room, just our training and the medical equipment in our medic bags. Muscle memory instinct kicked in and we responded by getting ready to welcome this child into the world right there.

Outside, the sirens continued. You could hear distant explosions overhead but we were in the middle of all the labor and delivery.

Within moments, the new baby girl was in our hands. But the relief did not come immediately. The umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. Tight enough to cause real concern.

Time, in those seconds, feels different. Slower, heavier.

We worked carefully, unwrapping the cord. Watching. Waiting.

And then her color began to return.

A moment later, she cried.

It was a sound that cut through everything. The explosions. The tension. The weight of the day.

We wrapped her, kept her warm, reassured the mother. Told her how amazingly brave and strong she was to have done the most incredible thing a woman can do, give birth to a beautiful healthy baby.

We helped her get cleaned up. We stayed with them until the ambulance arrived to take them to the hospital.

And then, just like earlier that day, we stepped back into our regularly scheduled routine. We went on to get Eli his Ambucycle.

But I know that it took me a moment to absorb the experience.

In the span of a few hours, I had stood in the aftermath of destruction, and then within a blink of an eye, assisted in welcoming new life. You do not forget something like that.

This job has a way of pulling you in different directions, sometimes within the span of an hour or two. One moment you are running toward collapse, toward injury, toward uncertainty. The next, you find yourself standing in the middle of something filled with immense pleasure and joy.

There is no real way to prepare for that contrast. You just carry it with you. Because that is how it works, always ready for the next call to respond to.