“It’s just another day in Israel" Former News reporter describes his journey to the Middle East as missiles flew overhead
As the war in the Middle East continues to rage on, The News’s former chief reporter Tom Cotterill found himself in the middle of the mayhem. Writing from Tel Aviv, Tom, who is now The Telegraph's defence editor, describes his journey into Israel as Iranian missiles flew overhead.
Alerts from Israel’s Home Front Command app, which warns the country’s 10million citizens daily of the strikes, began buzzing on my phone.
“In your area, rocket and missile fire: enter the protected space,” it says.
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I scramble into an eight-seater minivan with a pack of journalists from MSNBC - who I’d met moments earlier - as our driver, Alun, accelerates hard through the check point towards the shelter.
The pony-tailed former tour guide, who claimed to have once ferried Boris Johnson through Israel, appears relaxed as he speeds through the dusty winding roads around Allenby.
“It’s just another day in Israel,” he says. “Israelis are used to missiles now. They’ve been hitting us for three or four years. We just say f- - k it after two or three days.”
Our vehicle comes to an abrupt halt and we all pile out, rushing towards the shelters, the piercing tones of the air raid siren our soundtrack.
Outside, an armed guard wielding a loaded assault rifle, ushers people into the hardened concrete shelter. Others keep their eyes glued to the clear blue sky, looking for the tell-tale signs of a ballistic missile streaking overhead.
With two dozen of us crammed inside the white room, it soon starts to get uncomfortably hot.
Workers from the border crossing, wearing black, are jovial, however. One woman jokes with the journalists: “You're English? I can speak English. You can interview me.”
Others are less light-hearted. One man wearing a military assault vest with four loaded magazines across his chest, is stony-faced and looks tired. Another woman, wearing a bulky black set of body armour, too large for her slender frame, clutches the protective clothing, her eyes closed.
The chatter soon dies down as we all become aware of missiles racing somewhere overhead. We can’t hear them inside the bunker. But the Israeli Government continues with its advice to shelter in place, with alerts that screech out on everyone's phones.
Hours earlier on Sunday evening, an Iranian ballistic missile killed nine people in Beit Shemesh about 80km west. Some of those who died were in a bomb shelter just like mine.
The blast destroyed eight homes and the bunker. Half of those who died reportedly perished when the roof of their shelter collapsed and crushed them. Among the dead named on Monday were teenage siblings Yaakov, Avigail and Sarah Bitton, aged 16, 15 and 13 respectively. The tragedy of their deaths, in a place that was meant to provide them safety, isn’t lost on me as I stand in our shelter.
Then, just as soon as it began, it ended. The sirens die down and the all-clear is given.
People begin streaming out into the bright sunshine and the quiet. On any other day, it would have been almost tranquil, with a crisp chill in the air.
As I walk back toward my minibus, one young Israeli with a neatly trimmed beard and smoking a cigarette, turns to me.
“Welcome to Israel,” he says, grinning.