Clink-clunk-clank - and the sirens of Cast Lead

Here we go again.

War is here. To be politically correct it's not a war, at least not yet. It's officially a campaign. An operation. A series of "activities." An ongoing clink-clunk-clank of a hammer and a sweaty ironsmith doing his craft. Because it's his job. Because it's needed for a "transformation." Clink-clunk-clank, followed by fire - and silence.

It's also a live reality show- as proven by Eretz Nehederet on TV exactly at the same time that a Grad Rocket hits a kindergarden in Beer Sheva.

Oh, yes, it's eerily familiar. As Amir Peretz of Winograd fame hinted this morning on Galei Tzahal, we might as well just all recycle the TV broadcasts, the interviews, the analysis and the analysts of the Second Lebanon War. It's all the same.

Me? I'm having an out-of-body experience and I'm watching it from the side yet unable (unwilling?) to react. "About time we stick it to 'em," says my idealogically challenged neigboor. "We all know they just don't understand otherwise," says the technician who visits me the next day. But I don't share the enthusiasm. I just want it to end.

Time to check in with my friend S, who spent the night with her husband and 3 kids on the floor of her house's shelter. "Good thing I brought in some games yesterday and clared out the clutter, against my husband's instincts." Her oldest girl had a panic attack at 3 am. Nobody slept, she reports from her office near Tel Aviv. Kids are spending day with mother-in-law in "faraway" Holon.

And me? With one hand, reading David Grossman and praying for a truce. With the other, applauding the long overdue efforts of @israelconsulate and packing chocolates for our "troops" for my daughter to take to kindergarten.

Ridiculous. Bizarre.

Just going through the motions, like an ironsmith doing his craft.