
In the summer of 2006, I was hiking with some friends in northern Israel, about six miles from the border with Lebanon. This happened to be the day that a group of Hezbollah agents attacked an Israeli jeep, initiating a month-long conflict between the two forces. I watched as Ketyushim rockets rained down on the small Israeli town I was in, and I spent the night in a larger city listening to rockets crashing all around us. I got out of the war zone safely because I acted calmly and was staying with Israelis who took care of me. What kept me together was being among Israelis who had dealt with violent situations before and could answer my questions and tell me their predictions. However, I learned that you cannot always trust the locals’ expertise. My hosts swore that the city of Tzfat would never be hit by rockets because it was a holy city with no military targets. The next day, as we were on a bus to Jerusalem, we heard the news: Hezbollah had begun bombarding Tzfat.