War and peace

On the morning after the 12th day of Israel's war on Iran, those of us who had managed to get some sleep after the night's heavy strikes in the heart of the city woke to text messages saying there was a ceasefire.

- By Haleh Anvari

Donald Trump managed to fly his B-2s all the way from Missouri without any help. No doubt it was a beautiful bombing. It hit the last target - the behemoth Fordow, deep in the mountains.

The strikes on Iran's nuclear facilities brought fear of contamination throughout the week. Our social media were filled with an updated Iranian version of the duck-and-cover campaign from cold war America.

In case of exposure to radiation, get inside, we were told, change your clothes, take a shower and tape the windows. Not a single siren has sounded: apparently, we don't have them any more. Those who remember the Iraq-Iran war say there used to be sirens. Nor do we have shelters like Israelis do. Considering we have been at loggerheads with Israel for decades now, why haven't they built some?

The first days were a blur. The big emotional freeze. The frenzy to gather documents and essentials for a speedy departure. The calculus of doom: how much water do I need? How many T-shirts should I pack? When should I leave? How far should I go? What is their scenario for us - Iraq or Afghanistan? Someone said Libya.