I’m alive but not OK

The city shook this morning.

We were in the second siren of four so far today, (there have been more hatraaot, warnings, than I recall) and the interceptor is right over our heads.

For the first time since this war started, it sounds so close that my body instinctively braces for impact.

It feels like it is going to hit us. The Iron Dom does its job.

But there are many pieces of the missile that fracture and land in different parts of my city. I won’t tell you where.

The Iranians are always checking social media to see how accurate their aiming is. I’m not interested in helping them hit us better.

After a while everyone in my family drifts off to their day- my husband to minyan, my son to practicing his bar mitzvah parsha in the dining room, my daughter back to bed.

I lie curled up with the dog in the dark on the low mattress in the shelter, too frozen to move.

My is body clenched.

Still feeling the prickling of bracing for impact along my spine.

The tension in my jaw, in my face, in my neck.

The dog is warm and curled up next to me. He tucks himself close to me- shutting out the world too, as long as he can.

The rain keeps falling. It doesn’t care what else is falling.

I’m the kind of tired where my eyes want to close and I know I could fall asleep in an instant if my body let me. If the circumstances allowed me rest.

I’m back in the bomb shelter again as I’m writing, this time we’re being attacked by Iran and Hezbollah at the same time.

My phone has been buzzing all day.

People are asking me if I’m OK.

I’m alive but not OK, I tell them.

None of this is OK.