I'm in the nurses' office when the missile alert goes off. It's about 7:30 AM. They've already checked my blood sugar. There's enough time after the alert for them to give me my morning pills and insulin before we head off to the shelter.

It isn't the first alert of the day. We'd had one at 2:30 AM. I don't recall anything about it, other than that it happened.

After that alert, I go back to the nurses' office for another blood sugar check. There's good news: it's down to 131 (where normal values, I'm told, are between 80 and 130). The nurse congratulates me and shakes my hand. I know, however, that this doesn't mean that I can slack on my changes in eating.

Photos online show that an Iranian missile fragment slammed into a Tesla one town over. The missile's targeting computer probably saw the smart car and called out "Mommy!"

At my Hebrew lesson in the afternoon, my tutor shows me that the "Can I Shower" app works in both languages. She shares it via the Google Meet screen. We go through the interface, adding words that I don't know to my vocabulary list. The app shows that she has, at that moment, a twelve percent chance of a missile alert. Since she's in India, I don't know how they figure that.

(Unrelatedly: while the clocks in the US changed last night, they didn't in much of the rest of the world, including here and India. Here in Israel, we'll change on March 27th.)

At about 9:30 PM, my phone dings but doesn't show an alert. I think I hear a boom. I think I feel the floor in my apartment shake a little. My internet connection goes offline then comes back. I don't know if anything has really happened, but we're all hypervigilant nowadays. So it goes.