My dad is fine, but he's a crazy adrenaline junkie

I just talked to my mother, who just talked to my father, who is fine. [*knocks wood, throws salt over shoulder*] But he's in the Golan Heights, near the Lebanese and Syrian borders in the north of Israel. He was talking to my mother from his balcony on the kibbutz where he's staying, and he's looking out on a beautiful night and watching the artillery fire from the Hezbollah rockets. He assured my mother that he would go to a bunker if the air raid siren sounded. Great. That's so reassuring!

Though now that I think of it, we lived in Israel when it went to war with Lebanon back in 1982. That same year, my parents took my brothers and me to a ski resort on Mt. Hermon -- from which you could spit and hit Syrian or Lebanese soil -- to go sledding. Our family motto has always been "suck it up," so maybe taking us to go play in a war zone was a way of teaching us to walk the walk.