Hey everyone, welcome back to My Weird Prompts. It is February twenty-second, twenty-six, and we are coming to you today from our studio in Jerusalem. Honestly, Herman, the atmosphere here has taken on a very specific kind of weight over the last few weeks. You can feel it when you walk down Jaffa Street—that sense of waiting, of quiet preparation. It is not exactly panic, but it is a heightened state of readiness that seems to hum in the background of every conversation.
Herman Poppleberry here. And you are absolutely right, Corn. It is that strange, uniquely Israeli duality where you are checking the news alerts on your phone every ten minutes, but you are also making sure you have enough tahini and coffee in the pantry. It is a surreal way to live, especially as we navigate these ongoing tensions. We have seen these cycles before, but the current geopolitical friction between Iran and Israel has everyone looking at their emergency kits with a bit more scrutiny. It is the reality for millions of people right now, and it is a reality that demands a very practical kind of resilience.
It really does. And that brings us to today’s prompt, which comes from Daniel. Daniel wrote in saying he has been following our advice on general preparedness—stocking up on the bottled water, even keeping a few bottles of wine on hand for those high-stress evenings—but he wants to go deeper. His prompt is about the granular logistics of family life during an escalation. Specifically, he is asking about the most vulnerable among us: expectant parents and families with very young children.
It is a heavy topic, but an incredibly urgent one. Daniel’s prompt really pushes us to look at the human details that often get lost in the "big picture" geopolitical analysis. We talk about missile defense systems and diplomatic backchannels, but what happens when the biological clock of a pregnancy meets the tactical reality of a ten-minute warning? Or a ninety-second warning? It is not something people like to think about, but for many families in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and the north right now, it is the primary conversation at the dinner table.
Exactly. We are going to break this down into three main areas today to make sure we give Daniel—and everyone else in this position—the depth they need. First, we will look at the protocols for labor and delivery during an active conflict, especially for those who do not have a reinforced safe room in their home. Second, we will dive into the psychology of "emotional contagion"—how to manage your own anxiety so it does not overwhelm your children. And third, we will get into the pure, high-speed logistics of moving a toddler or an infant to a public shelter when you have ninety seconds or less.
And let us be clear from the start: while we are discussing this in the context of the current situation in Israel, these are principles of resilience that apply to anyone in a high-stress, high-risk environment. However, the specifics here are quite unique because of the infrastructure and the Home Front Command’s very detailed, battle-tested protocols. There is a lot of hard-earned wisdom in these procedures.
So, let us start with that first point. Labor. It is unpredictable on a good day. You have the "birth plan," you have the hospital bag, you have the route mapped out. But if you are living in an older building in Jerusalem—maybe in a neighborhood like Nachlaot or Rehavia where many apartments were built long before the law required a "Mamad," or reinforced safe room—the idea of going into labor during a siren is terrifying. Herman, what do the protocols actually look like when the biological timing clashes with an air raid?
It is fascinating, in a very grim way, how much specialized thought has gone into this. The general protocol from the Home Front Command and Magen David Adom—which is the Israeli national emergency service—starts with radical communication. If you are in your third trimester during a period of high tension, the "hospital bag" is not just a suggestion; it needs to be sitting literally by the front door, and it needs to be a backpack, not a rolling suitcase. But more importantly, you need to have pre-identified which hospitals have what we call "Ma’amadot," or reinforced maternity wards.
Right, because not all hospitals are built to the same specifications, especially the older wings.
Exactly. For example, here in Jerusalem, Hadassah Ein Kerem and Shaare Zedek have spent years and millions of shekels reinforcing their delivery rooms. In many cases, the maternity ward is actually located in an underground, rocket-proof bunker that functions as a fully operational hospital. When an escalation begins, the hospital does not just "make do"; they often move the entire labor and delivery operation into these reinforced zones. So, the first piece of advice for Daniel or anyone else is: call your intended hospital now. Ask them exactly where the delivery rooms are located during an "emergency footing." You want to be able to visualize that space before you get there.
So, ironically, if you are in labor and the sirens go off, the hospital is actually one of the safest places you can possibly be. But the challenge, of course, is the "in-between." Getting from your apartment to the hospital when the sky is active.
That is the crux of the danger. If a siren sounds while you are at home and in labor, the rule is absolute: you follow the same protocol as everyone else. You get to the most protected space available immediately. If you do not have a safe room in your apartment, that means the internal stairwell or a communal shelter in the basement. You do not, under any circumstances, try to drive to the hospital while the sirens are sounding or while interceptions are happening overhead. You wait the full ten minutes after the last siren ends, as per the Home Front Command protocol, before you even think about getting into a car.
That has to be an incredible test of will. To be in active labor, potentially with intense contractions, and forced to sit still in a communal stairwell while you hear the thuds of the Iron Dome or David’s Sling overhead.
It is a massive psychological burden. The advice given to doulas and midwives who work in these zones is to focus on grounding techniques specifically tailored for what is called "interrupted labor." There is actually fascinating research into how the body can sometimes stall labor during periods of extreme acute stress—it is an ancient biological defense mechanism. If the body senses a high-threat environment, the production of oxytocin, which drives labor, can be inhibited by the surge of adrenaline and cortisol. It is the body’s way of saying, "Now is not a safe time to bring a life into the world."
That is incredible. The body literally tries to hit the pause button.
It does. But, if the birth is imminent and cannot be paused, Magen David Adom has specialized dispatchers who are trained to talk a partner through an emergency delivery over the phone while they wait for an armored ambulance.
An armored ambulance. That is a detail that really brings home the reality of the situation.
They have a fleet of them, specifically for these scenarios. If you are in a public shelter or a stairwell and the baby is coming, you call one zero one immediately. You tell them you are in active labor and you are in a "non-protected" or "semi-protected" area. They will prioritize those calls. But for the parents in that moment, the focus has to be on creating what we call a "micro-environment" of safety. Even in a crowded communal stairwell, using sheets, coats, or even just a physical barrier of people to create a small private space can help lower the mother’s cortisol levels just enough to manage the pain and the fear.
It is about control, isn’t it? Controlling the small things when the big things—the missiles, the geopolitics—are completely out of your hands. I was reading a report about the "underground births" in the south, near the Gaza border, from a few years back. The nurses there talked about how they try to keep the atmosphere as "normal" as possible. They play music, they keep the lighting low, even if they are thirty feet underground behind three-ton steel doors. They are trying to trick the brain into thinking it is just a regular Tuesday in a regular hospital.
That normalcy is a psychological anchor. And that leads quite naturally into the second part of Daniel’s prompt, which is about the children who are already here. How do you stop your own sheer terror from leaking into your kids? Because, as we know, kids are like little Geiger counters for their parents’ stress.
They really are. They might not understand the complexities of regional conflict or the physics of a kinetic interception, but they understand the tremor in their mother’s voice. They understand why their father is hovering by the radio with a look of intense focus. This is the "emotional contagion" you are always warning us about.
Precisely. In developmental psychology, there is a concept called "social referencing." When a child—especially a toddler or a preschooler—is unsure of how to react to a new or scary stimulus, they do not look at the stimulus itself. They look at the primary caregiver’s face. If the caregiver looks calm and in control, the child’s nervous system decides the situation is manageable. If the caregiver looks panicked, the child’s nervous system goes into full red-alert mode. This is why the most important piece of "equipment" a parent has in a shelter is their own facial expression.
But Herman, let’s be real. We are talking about missiles. We are talking about the house shaking. How can a parent honestly project calm when they are worried about a direct hit? It feels almost like asking someone to lie to their child’s soul.
It is not about lying; it is about "containing." One of the most effective techniques recommended by Israeli child psychologists—and this is used extensively in schools here—is the "Shield" metaphor. You explain to the child that we have a very strong, invisible shield over our heads. You explain that the sirens are not "scary noises," but rather the sound of the shield waking up to do its job. It turns a frightening, unpredictable noise into a functional, protective one. You are giving the noise a "job description" that is positive.
I have heard people call the Iron Dome the "Iron Umbrella." It makes it sound almost cozy, which is a strange thing to say about a weapon system, but I can see how that helps a child’s brain categorize it.
It does. And the second key is to give the child a job. In any crisis, the feeling of helplessness is the primary driver of trauma. If you give a five-year-old the job of being the "flashlight monitor" or the "water bottle officer" in the shelter, you are shifting their brain activity from the amygdala—the fear center—to the prefrontal cortex, which handles tasks and logic. By giving them a responsibility, you are telling their brain that they are an active participant in their own safety, not just a passive victim of the noise.
That is a great insight. It is also about the ritual of the shelter, right? I know families in Jerusalem who have a "shelter bag" that is strictly off-limits during normal times. It has special snacks, a specific toy they love, maybe a book they only get to read when the sirens go off. It sounds counterintuitive, but for a child, the siren can almost become a signal for something "special" and safe, rather than something catastrophic.
Exactly. You are building a "resilience routine." Even the act of singing together in the stairwell isn’t just to pass the time; it is a physiological tool. Singing forces you to regulate your breathing and stimulates the vagus nerve, which sends a signal to the brain to calm the nervous system. If the parent is singing, their heart rate drops, and the child picks up on that physiological shift through a process called "co-regulation." You are literally using your own body to steady theirs.
I remember seeing a video of a kindergarten teacher in a shelter during a barrage. She had all the kids doing a "butterfly hug"—where they cross their arms and tap their shoulders rhythmically. It is a bilateral stimulation technique used in EMDR therapy to process trauma in real-time. It looked like a game to the kids, but she was helping them regulate their nervous systems while the building was literally shaking.
That is the level of expertise that has developed in this country. It is a specialized form of parenting. But there is also the "after-action" part, which Daniel should keep in mind. Once the siren ends and you go back to the living room, how you talk about it matters. Instead of saying, "Oh my god, that was so scary, I thought the windows were going to break," you say, "The shield worked perfectly. We followed our plan, we were safe in our spot, and now the job is done. What should we have for dinner?"
You are "closing the loop." You open the "danger loop" with the siren, and you must explicitly close it with a statement of safety and a return to routine. If you leave the loop open, that is where the chronic anxiety starts to fester and turn into something more permanent.
Exactly. And for the parents themselves, the advice is always: put your own oxygen mask on first. If you need to go into the bathroom and cry for five minutes once the kids are finally asleep, do it. You need that release. But while they are awake, you are the captain of the ship. Your job isn't to be "happy"; it is to be "steady." There is a big difference.
Let us pivot to the third part of Daniel’s prompt, which is perhaps the most stressful for parents of very young children. The ninety-second dash. In Jerusalem, you generally have about ninety seconds from the first sound of the siren until you need to be in a protected space. If you are on the fourth floor of an old building with no elevator, and you have a toddler and a baby, a stroller is simply not an option. It is a death trap in a stairwell.
A stroller is a massive liability in that situation. It is slow, it is bulky, and in a crowded building, it can block the stairwell for every other resident trying to get to safety. The "gold standard" for emergency transport in Israel is the high-quality baby carrier. An Ergobaby, a Tula, a Manduca—something that straps the child directly to your chest or back.
It keeps your hands free. That seems like the most critical thing. You need your hands to hold the railing, to open heavy shelter doors, or to carry a second child.
Precisely. For families with infants, the recommendation is to have a carrier literally hanging on the door handle of the safe room or the front door of the apartment. You do not even bother with the fancy buckles or adjustments if you are in a rush; you just get them in and move. For toddlers who can walk but are slow, the "fireman’s lift" or just tucking them under an arm like a football is often the fastest way down the stairs. It is not about comfort in those ninety seconds; it is about velocity.
It is not pretty, but it is effective. What about the "go-bag" for the kids? If you are heading to a communal shelter, you might be there for ten minutes, or if there is a prolonged barrage, you might be there for two hours.
The "Baby Go-Bag" needs to be a backpack, and it needs to be separate from the adult one. It should have at least twenty-four hours of supplies. That means diapers, wipes, and specifically, ready-to-feed formula if you use it. You do not want to be trying to measure out powder and water in a dark, crowded, high-stress shelter. You want the "pop and pour" versions. Also, include a small "sensory kit"—things like play-dough or a fidget toy—that can keep a child’s hands busy and their mind occupied in a cramped space.
And what about the physical safety during the move? I have seen some parents in the south use those little foam helmets for toddlers during evacuations. Is that overkill, or is there a logic to it?
In a chaotic environment where people are running down dark, narrow stairwells, it is actually not a bad idea. But more importantly, it is about the "Two-Hand Rule." One hand for the child, one hand for the environment. You never carry bags or loose items in your hands while moving a child down stairs during a siren. Everything you need should be in a backpack. Your hands are your primary safety tools for balance and protection.
That is a great point. A backpack keeps your center of gravity stable, which is crucial when you are moving fast. And for those who do not have a shelter in their building and have to go to a public shelter down the street—that ninety-second window is even tighter.
This is where the Home Front Command is very clear: if you cannot make it to a public shelter in ninety seconds, do not try. Stay in the building. Get to the internal stairwell. The stairwell of a concrete building is often the strongest part of the structure because it functions as the "core." Going outside during a siren to try and reach a shelter fifty yards away is much more dangerous than staying in an internal stairwell. Shrapnel from interceptions is a major risk, and you are much more exposed on the street than you are behind two layers of concrete in a stairwell.
So the hierarchy of safety is: Safe room in your apartment (Mamad), then the communal shelter in the building (Mamak), then the internal stairwell. Only go to the public shelter if it is literally next door and you can get there with time to spare. With kids, that is almost never the case.
Exactly. And once you are in that stairwell, you sit against the internal wall, not the external one. You keep the kids away from any windows or glass doors. If you are carrying a baby in a carrier, the protocol is to sit on the floor and lean forward slightly to protect the child with your own body. It is instinctive, but it is also tactical. You are using your own skeletal structure as a secondary shield for the infant.
It is amazing how these very primal, protective instincts get codified into civil defense protocols. It is about maximizing the probability of a good outcome through preparation.
It really is. And there is a community aspect to this that Daniel should consider. In Jerusalem, especially in the more close-knit neighborhoods like Katamon or Nachlaot, people know who the elderly residents are and who has young children. It is very common to see a neighbor knock on the door of a family with kids as they are heading to the stairwell, just to see if they need an extra pair of hands to carry a bag or hold a toddler.
That is the Jerusalem I know. There is a hardness to life here, certainly, but also a profound sense of mutual responsibility. You aren’t just protecting your own kids; you are part of a collective effort to keep the whole floor safe.
And that collective effort is what prevents the situation from devolving into pure panic. Panic is the enemy of safety. When you have a protocol, when you have a backpack by the door, and when you know your neighbors are looking out for you, the fear becomes manageable. It becomes a problem to be solved rather than a catastrophe to be endured.
I think that is the most important takeaway for anyone listening to this, whether they are in the Middle East or anywhere else facing a crisis. Preparation is the antidote to helplessness. Daniel’s prompt about the specific challenges for parents highlights just how much more there is to think about, but it also shows that there are solutions for almost every scenario—even the ones that feel impossible.
Even the "impossible" ones like going into labor during an air raid. The human spirit, and specifically the parental spirit, is incredibly adaptable. We have seen it time and again in this region. People find a way to make it work. They find a way to create a sanctuary for their children in the middle of a storm. It is about being "smart-brave," not just "brave."
"Smart-brave." I like that. It means acknowledging the danger but having a plan that is stronger than the fear. We’ve covered a lot of ground today—from the underground maternity wards of Shaare Zedek to the "Shield" metaphor and the logistics of the ninety-second dash.
I hope this has been helpful, not just for Daniel, but for all the parents in our audience who might be feeling that weight right now. It is about finding that balance between being fully prepared for the worst and still finding the joy in the everyday moments with your family. Because at the end of the day, that joy is what we are protecting.
Well said, Herman. And honestly, it is a conversation that needs to happen more often. We talk about the "big" geopolitics all the time—the treaties, the missiles, the rhetoric—but the "small" geopolitics—the stuff that happens in a stairwell at two in the morning—that is where the real story of human endurance is written.
Absolutely. And it is why we do this show. To dive into these nuances that get lost in the headlines. If you are listening and you are in one of these zones, please, check your carrier, pack that backpack, and talk to your neighbors.
Before we wrap up, I want to say that if you’ve been finding these deep dives helpful, we’d really appreciate it if you could leave a review on Spotify or Apple Podcasts. It genuinely helps the show reach more people who might be looking for this kind of information or just a bit of perspective from our corner of the world.
Yeah, it makes a huge difference. And if you have your own questions or your own "weird prompts" about life, technology, or how to navigate this complicated world, we’d love to hear them. We are here to explore the practical and the profound.
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This has been My Weird Prompts. Thanks to Daniel for the prompt that sparked this very necessary conversation. It is a lot to process, but as we always say, being informed is the first step toward being resilient.
Take care of yourselves out there. And take care of each other.
We’ll be back next time with another deep dive. Until then, stay safe and stay curious. Goodbye everyone.
Goodbye.
