A War Zone at Home: How I Survived an Iranian Missile Strike on My Apartment
In the early hours of Monday morning, a ballistic missile fired from Iran exploded at my apartment building in Tel Aviv. The blast destroyed my home, decimated the Israel Daily News recording studio, and forever changed the trajectory of my life. By some miracle (called the mamad / safe room)… I survived. I no longer have a home, and most of my belongings are damaged or gone (simply vaporized!)
This is my story:
After a long night of reporting on the intensifying war, I had just published the podcast at 3:50 a.m. and began changing into pajamas when the Home Front Command siren went off. I rushed upstairs to my neighbor Marisa’s safe room—one of the reinforced “mamad” rooms designed to withstand rocket attacks. We huddled there with others. I rolled audio, sensing something was coming. Moments later, a missile whizzed past the building and exploded. The force was unlike anything I’d ever felt. The knob on the safe room window flew across the room. The building swayed. I knew we had taken a direct hit.
When we got the all-clear, I opened the door to chaos—sheetrock on the ground, smoke and dust in the air, and our front door bent inward, trapping us inside. My partner Rafael, who had raced over on a scooter after getting the all-clear, notified rescue teams. Soldiers eventually broke the door down and helped us out. Glass was everywhere. Every window in the building had shattered. I wore borrowed slippers to protect my feet.
The blast had ruptured pipes, flooding the hallways. I passed my destroyed apartment, peeking in to see utter wreckage. I saw Rafael and my friend Zina waiting beyond the police line. Rafael hugged me tightly. He’d feared the worst after seeing injured people on the ground.
CNN was there. Though I felt unpresentable—even with makeup still on from the previous day—I let them interview me. I understand the job. Afterward, I made my way through Tel Aviv with the help of kind friends: Rafael’s buddy who lives a block away offered water and his puppy for comfort, and my dear friend Nicole gave me a place to rest, shower, and fall asleep. Her baby walked to me for the first time that morning—and somehow, I found joy clapping for her, even in the middle of my personal disaster. It brought tears to my eyes.
Returning to the apartment just hours later confirmed the worst. My ceiling had collapsed. My bedroom looked like it had been bombed—because it had. My prayer card blew across the room into the spot on the window where I usually pray with it… My laptop survived, cushioned inside a wet computer bag that I have been strategically placing behind the couch because I have had visions of my window being blown in since October 7th. My jewelry box had been looted. Heirlooms from deceased loved ones were gone. The empty box awaited me at the front door. My studio—hand-built with love over years—was in pieces. Equipment toppled. Broadcast clothes soaked and ruined.
Thanks to a network of friends and my EMT cousin, we gathered what we could and moved my things to an apartment graciously offered by someone stuck overseas. That night, at 11 pm, Tel Aviv’s municipality offered me a room in a hotel for displaced residents. I accepted the offer over the phone and went there. I checked in at 1 am.
Living in the hotel has helped. Meals are provided. City workers assist and are available daily. I spend my time filing insurance claims, recovering what I can, clearing rubble and debris with teenaged volunteers and trying to move forward. During the first week, Iran continued launching missiles at Israel. We rushed to bomb shelters several times a day and throughout the night. I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in more than a week.
Despite it all, I’m grateful to be alive. The support from my community of Olim Hadashim (internationals) Israel Daily News listeners, and strangers has lifted me. Our Instagram page has grown to 38,000 followers, and I intend to rebuild the Israel Daily News studio stronger than before. I refuse to go back to New York, despite some family and friends implore me to. This is my home. The Jewish people waited 2,000 years to return—and I’m not leaving.
We are still reporting, albeit with broken or old systems. The show might not look or sound the same and it may come out on a different schedule than fans are used to. We are still here. And with your help, we will keep telling the stories that matter—from the frontlines, from the shelters, from the heart of Israel.
Link to the Full Podcast Episode: https://open.spotify.com/episode/0oS9XD5C9dMn5cw50AGTHH?si=VtmD8dp1QAe8eOHqzaGisw
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