When my youngest son was only a few months old, I learned to take a shower in only seconds. He cried more than a little and I always heard a baby crying, even when he was sleeping in his crib. Today, no matter where I am, if I am away from the children, if they are out of sight, I hear the alarm. Always.

My name is Shoshi. I am 43 years old, married and the mother of three children. My daughters are in elementary school and my youngest son is five. I also have 37 ten year olds in the class I teach and I feel that they are mine, too,

When I am teaching and an alarm sounds, the children hurriedly crouch under their desks. I look at them. The girls are scared, some tremble or cry. Sometimes one wets her pants. The boys try to appear nonchalant but I know them and their body language well enough to know that they are just waiting for the moment they can be with Mommy and cry. I think about my children. For a moment, I want to leave everything, run to them, hug them and protect them. For one moment, I really do want to abandon my students. Is there anyone who can understand what we, the teachers, are facing? The responsibility? Who can bear this burden of responsibility? I pray for pangs of conscious about issues of home and work, but every day, week after week, I suffer pangs of conscious over life and death with three children at home and 37 in class.

Earlier this month, the alarm sounded in the afternoon, an almost silent sound that cuts you like a knife. Stomach churning, I shout to the children, to hurry into the protective room. On the way, I almost trip. For a moment, I am dizzy but I do not have time to breathe or reorient myself. I continue to call their names, come already… All of a sudden, I jump up. Where is my youngest? I ran around the house hysterically until I found him in the bathroom, curled up in the corner, his hands still wet and the water running. He heard the alarm and apparently went into shock. He put the towel over him as if it would protect him and his entire little body began to convulse. He was alone for a few minutes but, to him, it seem like eternity. He did not even manage to shout, cry or call for us…

This broke me completely. Had I gone so crazy that I forgot my son? Had I lost my maternal instinct? What kind of mother forgets her child? What kind of mother does not allow her children a family outing, a weekly candy or ice cream when living in hell, in order to take only one each time in case there is a “Color Red” alarm, because she doesn’t want to look into their eyes and decide which one to take out of the car first, before the Qassam missile picks its target.

That is why, two weeks ago, I decided that I need help. Absolutely essential. I called the municipal Welfare Department and two days later, a man and woman appeared in my living room, professionals from NATAL. I did not need to go out, calculate times or figure which of the children would be home. I sat with the female therapist and learned to breathe and relax. After 30 minutes of breathing, I could feel to my body returning to me, relaxed, placated and soft. Since then, I have practiced breathing every night before going to sleep. We talked about the difficult experience with my son. We talked about past experiences and whether I also felt abandoned. We managed to focus the issues, find the logic behind all the craziness and work on the difficulties during alarms. For a few minutes, I focused on myself, I took care of myself. I understood that nothing bad had happened to anyone in my family or to me. Worrisome thoughts made room for deep breaths, a small smile at corner of my lips and for a stronger, more optimistic perspective on life at home.

My children met with the other therapist and drew pictures. He asked them to draw pictures that expressed what they feel when a Qassam falls, their feeling when they are able to win against the missile and the fear. The youngest, my wise son, took two pieces of white paper. He colored one black and the other, yellow. “This is a Qassam,” he said, pointing to the black page. “This is light,” he said, pointing to the other page, “and the light will win over the fear and make all of the Qassams disappear.”