Yesterday, one of our sons + two little ones  came from Jerusalem to borrow our car.  On the way, on the light train, they heard sirens.

A nationalistic-minded tractor driver had just overturned a bus

and run repeatedly over Rabbi Avrohom Wallis, an ultra-orthodox father of 6 (or 7), killing him.

After picking up the car, they returned to Jerusalem via the Nomi Shemer Tunnel, which goes beneath Arab villages.

They were stopped inside.  A motorcyclist had just shot a soldier at the bus stop at its  Jerusalem entrance.

When they finally made it home to the Old City, because there had just been an attempted stabbing, they had to wait for police escort

In the meantime, my husband was driving another son, who had been drafted for over a month, home from the army. Because they had to go through the areas of the two incidents, they were stuck in terrific traffic jams.  Finally, they turned around, trying another route. Though it passed through an Arab village without incident, they found themselves in another traffic jam.  As they were inching forward, stones rained down from nearby Arab villages on  the hills overhead.

8:00 this morning:  two rocket fires on our town.  Instead of going down to our shelter, I lay in our hall,

balcony view   a  foam rubber pillow over my head for protection.

In my writing, I favor circular endings, ones that somehow bring my  readers from start to start.

So it’s sirens to sirens, I guess.

The end?