Under Fire, part 37

Knock it off, Nasrallah! You're giving me a d*&m headache! The pounding goes on without a break. A deadly barrage of rockets around noon kills ten in Kfar Giladi (near Kiryat Shemona), and the death toll may mount further as medics, pinned down by further barrages, must wait to evacuate the wounded.

Hair grows during a war, too: I hear rumors that Michele is still holding court in his salon at the mall. Looking a bit like a poorly groomed Sasquach, I risk the short drive. But sure enough, halfway through my haircut the sirens go off. "Want to go to the bomb shelter?" asks Michele, blandly snipping away. I think about it for a second, consider the two floors above us and the thickness of wall around us, and shrug. "Naw..." A lesser stylist would have faltered, but Michele manages to finish the cut without lopping off an ear. He sends me home buzzing from the endless cups of strong Turkish coffee.

And I'm not the only one trying to keep up some semblance of grooming. IDF is starting to use women reservists in combat.

The sirens are going off again. More later...