Tel Aviv bomb shelter dance parties lit up Israel last week during Purim celebrations, marking the ancient Jewish escape from a genocidal Persian plot. Despite ongoing missile barrages and air-raid sirens, revelers embraced joy, showcasing national resilience forged in conflict.
First Party: From Garage to Streets
I joined one gathering on March 2, invited by shelter acquaintances from the night before. Organizers coordinated via a WhatsApp group of over 500, revealing the venue—a fortified parking garage—at the last minute.
Upon arrival, efforts to sway a security guard failed. As fixes unfolded, young locals, mostly from the francophone community plus tourists, arrived in costumes evoking Halloween: cowboys, princesses, butterfly wings, anime characters, and devil horns. Drinks flowed, lawn chairs filled spots, and women smoked casually awaiting the beats.
The event, of questionable legality, got shut down. Crowds spilled onto streets for spontaneous fun. A young woman of Middle Eastern background, who moved to Israel five years ago, captured the spirit: “One side you’re on war, and it’s very hard and very stressful, and the other side is like, OK, we have to celebrate. We always want to find the light, even in the darkness.”
Her friend, a young Black woman with rhinestone-adorned face, added: “We try to celebrate life, even though everything (is) very hard here.” They laughed, cherishing their freedom.
A group of lively young men hailed the recent airstrike killing former Iranian leader Ali Khamenei as making Purim special. “We have to enjoy much more than before, because there is the war. If we’re not happy, we show Iran that they win,” one declared. His bunny-masked friend amused with carrot tricks.
Abby, in gold lamé and angel wings, holding wine and a cigarette, said: “Purim allows me to celebrate the resilience of the Jewish people and all that we’ve been through all over the ages. The best message I can give to the world, I swear, like seriously, you need to live.”
Suddenly, sirens wailed. Partygoers rushed into the garage, singing a Hebrew folk tune: “We are believers and children of believers, and we have no one else to rely on but on our father in heaven.” The alert passed, but the night ended early.
Second Night: Underground Rave Triumphs
The next evening, a new spot under a mall drew crowds after midnight, with discreet entry urged. Hezbollah fired three missiles hours earlier, granting just 90 seconds to seek cover—I heard an interception en route downstairs.
Behind a massive submarine-like metal door, disco, pop, and rave pulsed amid smoke and costumes. Hundreds danced defiantly.
Rubin, in a mock spacesuit with his girlfriend, shared: “We just get out of the basement and go out and have some fun… just have a good night for once, after the four days we just had.”
Mario and Luigi costumes perched on a car: “Nobody can stop us. Even Hezbollah or Iran. We don’t care… we are not nervous because we are together. All the people here is a family.”
Noam, tinsel-crowned, noted: “All of our holidays are just about Jews who were escaping and being executed… every generation Jewish people will be executed and they will look for us.”
Rebecca and parrot-costumed Amelie felt secure in Israel’s shelters: “There is a war and everything, but we’re, like, having fun. It’s usual for us.” A cherubic reveler proclaimed: “Everything is for the Iranian people. We’re dancing for them. You’re gonna be freed from your f–king dictatorship,” praising Iron Dome as “witchcraft.”
Two men emphasized joy: “We need to dance, because in the darkest time, you need to have joy. Without joy, without love, there is nothing.” One invoked Cyrus the Great’s ancient liberation of Jews, urging the same for Iranians today. His friend added: “Life is too short to be sad… God is with us.”
The bash wrapped at 3 a.m., crowds emerging joyful into quiet streets. Jets roared overhead; sirens soon followed, with distant rocket interceptions unheard below.
