#6 - Mimsie in Israel

March 10, 2026

This morning I was sitting in a little bakery near Jen’s apartment, working on this blog.

Ironically, I was typing the part about how our area of Jerusalem had been free of sirens today when phones around the bakery suddenly started sounding alerts.

I had been talking with the owner, who was curious about what I was doing here and even asked, “What’s the difference between a church and a ministry organization?” I love it here… it’s never hard to get into a spiritual conversation. Maybe because tomorrow is never taken for granted like it often is back home.

At first I stayed put. An alert doesn’t always mean my neighborhood will get the siren. But when the siren actually sounded, I quickly closed my computer, grabbed my coat and purse, and headed for Jen’s apartment.

As I rushed out the door, the owner called after me with a smile, “Run Alice, run!”

And I did run… mostly because I’m not quite sure how to measure 90 seconds. Let’s just say two cups of coffee, a siren, and a burst of adrenaline don’t always cooperate perfectly — enough that a quick wardrobe change was in order afterward :-)

By the time I reached the building, people from the street and nearby businesses were heading toward shelter — including a few ladies from a nearby salon who were midway through color processing… yikes!

Some were heading downstairs to the basement while Jen’s apartment is two floors up. I briefly thought about running up the stairs to the mamad in the apartment, but instead followed the strangers heading down.

It’s amazing how quickly you bond with people you’ve never met when you suddenly share the same situation. Even though I was clearly the only non-Hebrew speaker, everyone made sure I was okay.

Running to shelter is still a strange experience. I wouldn’t say I felt afraid… more aware of the situation.

At the same time, I know what I experienced today is only a small glimpse of what many Israelis are facing.

A few days ago Hezbollah joined the fight from the north, opening another front in this war. Just last night citizens there endured more than seventy rockets throughout the night. Unlike here in Jerusalem, they don’t always get the luxury of ninety seconds to reach shelter. Sleepless nights are another part of war strategy.

And while the bright daytime sky makes it harder to see what’s happening above you, I knew exactly what could be overhead as I ran to shelter.

Just last night Elly captured video of a cluster bomb passing over our area. These ballistic missiles travel high above the atmosphere and release smaller projectiles designed to scatter and cause maximum damage when they come down — aimed at civilian areas like the one I’m sitting in.

So even when the sky looks calm and blue… you understand what could be happening above it.

Moments like that are becoming part of the rhythm of daily life here right now.

Earlier this morning — before the bakery, the siren, and the sprint to shelter — the living room floor had disappeared under a pile of Legos.

Benley and Yahley were busy building a city. Before long there were buildings, cars, and little streets taking shape. They grouped the houses together, lined up the cars, and arranged everything so the city had a kind of order to it.

They were creating a world that made sense.

Of course their city also had sirens — or at least the kind of sirens two little boys can make with their voices. “Woo-woo-woo!” followed by the occasional “Boom!” as imaginary explosions shook their Lego buildings.

It sounded strangely familiar.
But what struck me most wasn’t the explosions.
It was the instinct to create.

They weren’t just stacking Legos. They were building a world — organizing it, protecting it, arranging it so everything had a place. Homes together. Cars parked. Streets laid out in a way that made sense.

And in the world they were creating, there were protectors.

Dinosaurs.

Apparently dinosaurs had been assigned the important job of defending the city.

And both of the boys wanted the same role.

The protector. The hero.

No one volunteered to be the villain.

Watching them made me realize something simple but powerful. Deep inside us, there seems to be a spark of the Creator Himself.

We build.
We organize.
We create order out of chaos.

And we instinctively want to protect what we’ve made.

In many ways, what they were building looked like the kind of world humanity has always longed for — a safe place, an ordered place, a place where things work the way they should.

Maybe that longing runs deeper than we realize.

Maybe every human heart carries a quiet memory of Eden — a memory of the ordered world God created before chaos entered the story.

And maybe that’s why the chaos of war feels so unsettling. Missiles, sirens, and destruction are the opposite of the ordered world God created in the beginning.

What also weighs on my mind is that there are children on the other side of this conflict being raised in a world of chaos. The truth they are being taught about the world is shaping their hearts — and when that truth is rooted in hatred, it can lead to more chaos and destruction.

Maybe this is part of why Jesus commanded us to love our enemies. (Matthew 5:43-48)

When we stop praying for the salvation of those we call our enemies, our own hearts can slowly drift toward the same hatred we fear. And when hatred takes root, we can lose sight of what matters most — raising our children to love others, even in a broken world.

What a sobering consequence. Innocent children, on every side of this war, are growing up inside stories that will shape the kind of world they someday build.

But watching the boys this morning reminded me of something hopeful.

Even in the middle of a world that feels chaotic, children still sit on the floor and try to build a world that makes sense.

A world that is ordered.
A world that is safe.
A world worth protecting.

And maybe that longing is a reminder that the story of God isn’t finished yet.

Because even in a chaotic world, children still sit on the floor and build cities worth protecting.

– Mimsie in Israel