Kelsen, whose roommate works for The Associated Press, said he was getting much of his information about the war via Washington. Reports of the damage on Israeli radio remained contradictory and confused for several hours, and newspaper accounts in the morning were incomplete, he said.

Although no one was killed by the missile barrage, Kelsen said that three people were reported dead in the wake of the attack--including a small child who smothered in a protective tent designed as a shield from gas attacks.

Preparations for a possible counterstrike began almost immediately, Kelsen said. Another roommate, a member of a reserve unit of Israeli paratroopers, received word of a sudden callup through a coded radio broadcast.

"When they start mobilizing the reserves like they are, it means the situation is very serious," he said.

"The Israeli rhetoric is very defiant. There's a bravado here when it comes to their military. If there's another attack, I have no doubt [that Israel will retaliate], and if it's chemical attack, they're going to absolutely devastate Iraq."

After interviewing several Tel Aviv residents after the second attack, Kelsen said he had few doubts that an Israel would launch a reprisal before long.

After the first attack subsided, he said, most Israelis were willing to accept President Bush's assurances that the U.S.-led alliance was stepping up efforts to take out Iraq's mobile Scud missile launchers. They were "sort of resigned," he said.

"People are very tense but very confident, very angry...It's enough already they said. It's time to strike back."

Kelsen said he took the job with the Inquirer in spite of the danger, because he wanted to see first-hand what was going on.

And in the wake of the first attack, he said his resolve to remain in the country had only been heightened. "It's been fascinating. I couldn't possibly leave now," he said.

In the interview after the second wave of missiles, however, Kelsen's feelings on the situation had altered noticeably.

"It's getting to be too much. It's not funny any more," he said Saturday morning, adding that he would probably try to leave the country before the end of the week. The danger, he said, was now too great.

"You go to sleep and you don't know if you're going to be roused in the middle of the night. You don't know if the missile's got your name on it."