I wake up early to get the work in Tel Aviv. At the end of the day, I ride the train back south. Feed the kids, bathe them and read bedtime stories in the bomb shelter. Turn on the radio as a back up in case the sirens fail. All in all, the kids are handling this well although the middle son (the sensitive one) seems to be more irritable and probably needs some one on one time.
I'm working late again and I'll have to stay in Tel Aviv. The family is down south in what amounts to a war zone. Luckily our village hasn't been hit by rockets. The kids even went to school for two days, but now there's no school for the foreseeable future. Several of my colleagues have offered to host us, but I've declined for the time being. In the meantime my mother has come down to help out.
Watching the news on TV is frustrating because one part of me wants to be back in Soroka Hospital to help treat the wounded. But another part knows that if Soroka is overwhelmed then wounded will be transfered to hospitals here in Tel Aviv. I'll be where ever I'm needed.