Under Fire, part 8

A noisy day: Karmiel gets pummeled. The buildings hit are about halfway between me and our beit knesset.

The siren starts seconds after I get out of the shower. I stand and drip in the stairwell, the second safest spot in the house after the security room, and feel remarkably stupid. Once I'm safely dressed, I decide that the best way to cope with the stress is to clean the house. It may not be rational, but the activity makes me feel better, and the simple normalcy of sweeping the floor (I use a broom, lest the sound of the vaccuum cleaner drown out the sirens) is a small victory in its own. I suspect that some great-great-great grandmother, facing an invasion of the Cossacks, did the dishes and dusted the house before fleeing. Hmmm. Maybe this constant background thudding of artillery fire will inspire me to tackle the pile of files on my office floor...