I thought I wasn’t cut out for coping with war. Then I remembered where I come from
Last night, no one in my family heard the blaring sirens — not my husband, not my children, not even me, the one who wakes up from the smallest squeak the kids make.
Thankfully, there were no falls in our area, but tonight, I can’t relax into sleep, more out of a sense of responsibility than real fear.
My husband and I put the kids to sleep in the safe room. I ask my father — who’s in Tzfas — to call me if he hears sirens. But still, I can’t sleep.
I sigh. Tomorrow night, maybe we’ll put a mattress in the safe room for me. That’ll probably be the only way I can get some slumber.
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