Not far from the hospital there’s a stunning viewpoint over the city and its thriving port.
Out to sea, ships and tankers glide across the water.
But Haifa’s proximity to Lebanon – and Hezbollah’s rockets – leaves it vulnerable.
Look out over the shipping lanes and you can see the border.
The people who live here are used to emergency drills every few months. School children regularly rehearse what to do in the event of an attack.
One young couple we met in the city centre described living with that threat.
“It’s like a ticking timebomb,” says the woman. “Any minute now it could be an alarm. Will I die? Will I have time to go to my family?”
Others are less concerned. In his newly-opened coffee shop, Luai poured a cappuccino and said he had grown accustomed to the situation.
“People are afraid. I’m not afraid,” he said.
But in Haifa City Hall, the mayor admits to sleepless nights. Yono Yahav is in his eighties and the weight of responsibility hoods his eyes. He also ran the city during the 2006 war.
“I’m very sad about it,” he said. “There is a fork in the Middle East. The leaders are only concerned with destruction, killing, fighting instead of building.”
Haifa is a so-called “mixed city”; a place where a significant number of Israeli Arabs live alongside Israeli Jews. Mr Yahav says it’s a peaceful community, which makes the current conflict all the more painful.
Peace, he insists, is still possible.
And international diplomacy continues even as Haifa’s doctors prepare their fortress hospital.
There’s still hope, perhaps, they’ll never have to use it.
