Today, at around 7:30 a.m., somewhere between diaper changes and trying to convince Yedidya that he could not eat two fistfuls of raisins, we start to hear the sirens. Yedidya runs to the front porch, craning his neck to see the ambulances pass by on the main road. “Nother one! Nother one! Nother one!” As the unexpected light-and-sound show continues relentlessly and he is almost exploding with glee, my hands begin to shake. Oh G-d. Please. No! This was clearly a terror attack, and from the sound of the police and ambulances speeding in the same direction, it is clear something terrible has happened just one neighborhood over, in Har Nof.

It is almost as if I have two tracks running simultaneously in my head. Track number one is playing my regular routine. I’m trying to coax Yedidya into having his diaper changed and stop Tzion as he sits on the floor pulling all the wipes out of the package. I’m cutting up bread and making salad, and feeding Tzion solid foods for the first time. Yedidya is busy with his favorite activity: washing dishes. Yesterday we went shopping in the shuk for fruits and vegetables, and to the Misrad Hapnim to get our Israeli passports. Today we went to the mall.  Everything is normal.