This morning as I was driving to Tel Aviv - early because I prefer to beat the traffic, the 6:00 a.m. report said that there had been no rocket fire from Gaza since 9:00 p.m. You're tempting fate, I thought to myself.
And sure enough, a short while later - sirens in Ashkelon. A few minutes later - Rishon L'Zion - far enough north to begin to worry. If the missiles were ont point on a graph and I was another - we would collide in the middle somewhere. Of course, the rockets - for the good and the bad - fly faster than I'll ever drive.
They're firing up here, I thought to myself - coming north. I was passing the airport - a major target (which in practical terms means the airport is fine and everyone else around it has to worry). I moved to the left lane so that if I had to stop, there would be a place and a dividing wall. Many other cars did the same and traffic slowed dramatically. What a concept this is, I thought to myself - driving to work waiting for a rocket. In what world? And the answer, of course, is only in Israel. And how the world finds that acceptable is quite sickening. How the world can worry not about those being fired upon, but those who are firing the rockets.
And yes, I know the world isn't worried about Hamas, they are worried about the poor Palestinian civilians...who continue to ignore when we drop leaflets in targeted areas, who climb to the roof tops of buildings because they know that we won't fire if we identify them up there, who don't build bomb shelters but use the cement that could save their lives to build attack tunnels and bunkers for their leaders. These are the people who worry the world and bring the vile Chris Guinness, spokesperson for UNRWA, to his knees in fear.
So mixed in with my concern, as I thought of this, was anger. They are firing at over one million people who are doing nothing but waking up, showering, and driving to work.
And within a few seconds, more cities. I could feel my heart begin to race - seriously. Tel Aviv...Jaffo...Herziliya...that's where I'm headed. Shoham...Rosh Ha'ayan. Shoham is somewhat close to where my sister lives; Rosh Ha'ayin is very close to where my parents live. Rosh Ha'ayin on one side; Tel Aviv in the distance on the other.
It was about 6:30 a.m. and I decided to call my parents and wake them. My father answered and I explained quickly - I didn't hear the name of the city where they live, but I had already figured that it was too hard for me to listen for their city and listen other places while calculating where I was and if I needed to stop.
I looked at the sky long after anything fired from Gaza would have landed. A friend driving from the north of Herziliya saw Iron Dome take out two rockets - or at least be fired twice.
Israelis have come to the call to the bomb shelter relatively calmly - we go, we sit and even if there is a direct hit - as there was a few minutes ago on a house in Ashkelon, most often, the people are okay. It's only possessions and that is not what we worship.
But being on the road adds a whole new dimension of scared. This is why Gaza fires. After close to 4,000 rockets and mortars, even they know they are unlikely to hit anything major with our amazing Iron Dome. They killed little Daniel on Saturday only because he lived in a beautiful village so close to Gaza, built long ago when people still believed peace would come some day.
No, Gaza doesn't really fire to kill, they fire to terrorize.