Sitting at the dining room table contemplating rolling out the dough I made for pizza. I'll take some to Amira; already gave some to Elie and Lauren and I have for Shmulik as well. Aliza is at her school for a Purim party; Davidi is upstairs.
My phone, once again calls out - "Color Red. Color Red. Color Red. Color Red."
I sit here while in the south they are literally running for their lives. It's over 15 seconds. The rocket would have landed by now. In a minute or two, my phone will beep to tell me where it hit.
It is surreal; it is sick. It is life here - a life that Gaza would take from us if they could.
It is the month of Adar, just before the holiday of Purim. Purim is a holiday filled with fun- we dress in costumes and listen to the amazing story of an evil man who wanted to destroy us. Of everyday heroes - Esther and Mordechai who saved our people.
Haman was hanged...
Another missile attack now. "Color Red. Color Red. Color Red. Color Red."
No, they will not take our holiday, our joy.
And another...another incoming missile...
Meanwhile, the Palestinians are blaming Israel for attacking Gaza (ignoring the fact that they attacked us)...and this just in: Palestinian rocket misfired hit a Palestinian house east of Jabaliya, northern Gaza strip, wounded 5. They'll probably blame us for that too.