The tension inside the bomb shelter seems almost as charged as the rocket fire outside. The volunteers pass around a few communal cigarettes, wishing aloud they were smoking something stronger. I try to count the number of Palestinian rockets that are being fired at us, but after a while I lose track and give up.

A few kibbutzniks try to liven up the mood a bit by telling jokes and bawdy stories. But the humor falls short, turning black and morbid. "If we're killed, at least we won't have to do kitchen duty anymore," one volunteer cracks. In the background we hear the distant but continuous sound of the Palestinian rockets.

It is cold in the bomb shelter, and it is hard for me to fall asleep. Other kibbutzniks are more experienced; they brought with them pillows and blankets for the long night. This is clearly not their first siege in a bomb shelter--nor will it be their last.

MONDAY

Most of the people on the kibbutz are weak and tired this morning because of last night's attack, but everyone tries to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary has happened. In a way, nothing has. The battle was business as usual. Obviously, the kibbutzniks are fighting a psychological as well as a military war with the Palestinians.

Details of last night's attack are hard to come by. The closest mortars are rumored to have landed three miles from here, but there is no official explanation of what has happened. The morning paper reports that throughout Israel's northern border the Palestinians have been firing 82-mm. and 120-mm. mortars, in addition to the Soviet Katyushka rockets.

Today the kibbutz is especially busy. As I spend the morning working in the citrus , I see Israeli warplanes flying overhead inpairs--probably Phantom jets or F-15s. The beauty of the Galilee Mountains contrasts sharply with the noises and reality of war. Later in the day, I hear several helicoptors landing near Hanita. The kibbutz's dirt road is freshly marked with tank tracks.

The kibbutz leaders have been talking to each other secretly, in Hebrew, about what is going on; but as a recent entrant to the kibbutz, I am not told what is taking place. My questions go unanswered; there is no concept of the public's right to know in war-torn Israel.

The fighting is taking a psychological toll on all who stay in the kibbutz, whether they admit it or not. Especially on me. Ordinary noises scare the hell out of me now. Doors slamming begin to sound like mortar attacks or bomb blasts. I dream that someone shouts the warning Hafligah, but I sleep through it obliviously while the rest of the kibbutz rushes to the bomb shelters. I'm beginning to gain respect for the strength of Winston Churchill and the people of London during World War II.

I'm also not sure how much longer I can stand this.

TUESDAY

Finally, a night of sleep in my bed, rather than in the bomb shelter. But the nighmares about the war continue.

Perhaps I'm becoming paranoid and have been exaggerating the dangers; maybe it will all end soon. On the other hand, the Palestinian shelling could drag on for weeks. More than anything else, I can't stand the uncertainty of the situation.

Dinner has been shortened from an hour and a half to 30 minutes, in order to minimize the time during which the entire kibbutz is gathered together and thus especially vulnerable to attack.

Before this, the kibbutz leaders had refused even to discuss what they euphemistically call "the situation." Today, for the first time, they officially admit the dangers by posting a sign: "PROCEDURES IN CASE OF MILITARY ALERT." That's as far as the kibbutzniks will come to recognizing openly what is already on everyone's mind.

TUESDAY NIGHT