By 9:00 p.m., a healthy crowd had gathered in the kibbutz pub, better known as “Yossi’s Place,” and a large projector television screen was tuned to the big game. Nearly thirty men and a handful of women had gathered to watch the game, sip a few beers, and enjoy each other’s company. The pub was named for the founder of the pub, who had passed away many years before.
Yehoshua and Eitan approached the bar and sat down on two of the wooden stools. A bartender immediately popped the bottle cap off a Stella Artois and handed it to Yehoshua. He then turned to Eitan and asked in broken English what he could get for him.
Recognizing his poor English, Eitan asked in Hebrew, “Can you make a Moscow Mule?”
The bartender exhibited a puzzled expression, clearly not familiar with such a cocktail. “Do you have any ginger beer back there?” Eitan tried again.
Still the same puzzled look. Giving up, Eitan simply said, “I’ll have a Stella as well.”
Moments later, the referee had blown the whistle, and the players put the ball in motion. Yehoshua smiled at Eitan, seeing that he seemed determined to enjoy the game. Drinking his beer, Eitan sat comfortably on his stool, facing the television. His back was resting against the bar directly behind him.
The digital clock on the wall behind the bar showed a quarter past nine when Eitan and Yehoshua were shaken from their contentment and reminded exactly where they were. Yehoshua’s phone began buzzing incessantly, as did several other phones throughout the pub. Yehoshua instinctively began to scan alerts and messages from his office. Then a news flash came across the television. A terrorist attack had just occurred somewhere in Tel Aviv. Yehoshua quickly ushered Eitan outside and ran across the courtyard towards a community living room where Emma was conversing with some of the other kibbutz women.
When the two men entered, it appeared that the women were unaware of what had happened. Yehoshua calmly pulled Emma outside, feigning the need for a quick word.
Once outside, Yehoshua’s eyes flickered to Eitan’s and Emma’s. “Emma, something has happened in Tel Aviv, and I need to take you both to safety right now.”
Moments later, without any time to process what was happening, Emma and Eitan found themselves racing down the stairs of the communal building towards one of the kibbutz’s many bomb shelters. Once secure inside the concrete cell, they scanned the sparse surroundings, which consisted of some mattresses on the floor and a plastic table with a small television. Yehoshua quickly flipped on the television, pleasantly surprised to see it was working. He turned to a news channel, and they all listened intently.
Yehoshua had moved to a corner of the room and looked closely for the first time at reports coming in from his office. It was puzzling that this attack had occurred in Bat Yam and not in central Tel Aviv. He had an unnerving feeling that it was likely connected to their issues with the Ukrainians.