Good Investment

Working at different Universities and living in foreign countries is one of the greatest advantages of being a postdoc. You meet new people, taste exotic foods, and have many other exciting experiences - sometimes more exciting than you are prepared to undergo in the name of Science.

When the first rockets hit Beer Sheva, I am having dinner with a couple of friends at a local pub. Because of the loud music we can't hear the siren, but suddenly a security guard bursts in, screaming something in Hebrew. Following the example of my friends, I take a place on the floor near the closest wall: being close to a wall is safer, in case the building collapses.

A few minutes later the attack is over and a lively discussion begins: "Did you hear the "boom"? How many booms did you hear? Was it close?" Then people pull out their cell phones, hurrying to get in touch with their parents before the news about the attack appears on the internet and the phone lines get too busy. The pub waitresses are in shock and the manager tells us that the place is closed for the night.

I decide against calling my parents - just yesterday I reassured them that the rockets do not reach Beer Sheva, and, living in Russia, they are unlikely to learn that the situation has changed. Luckily, the international media do not report every rocket attack against Israel. However, I call several of my local postdoc friends, asking them how they cope with the situation.

I learn many new things in the next few days: the Hebrew word "azaka" means an "air attack", "mamad" or "miklat" means "bomb shelter", "shtachim ptuchim" stands in the news for undefined "open spaces," where rockets invariably fall, if there is no damage to report. I learn what to do in a house that does not have a proper bomb shelter, and where to hide, if I hear the siren while in a street or on a bus. I acquire deep appreciation for the discipline called "mechanical stability under ultra-high stress," whose subject, as I now understand, is building better bomb shelters.

The classes at the University are cancelled, and the students, most of whom are not local, flee from Beer Sheva. But professors stay, and I meet them several times a day in the mamad. During one such meeting, I inquire from my professor, Y., whether he thinks that the new postdoc, who is planning to join our group in a few months, will now refuse to come. But Y. is not worried: "These things happen here every few years. Coming right after the war, when the period of quiet just begins, is a good investment."

Thus reassured, I am still working in Beer Sheva, where I now share an office with the new postdoc.