Sign up for Weekday J and get the latest on what's happening in the Jewish Bay Area.

Jerusalem — It is 10:15 p.m. Sunday and there hasn't been any gunfire for the past 20 minutes, but combat helicopters still drone overhead. Tonight Jerusalem's southern neighborhood, Gilo, came under the heaviest fire yet, and for the first time, our helicopter gunships blasted back air-to-surface missiles at the Arab snipers in Beit Jalla and Bethlehem.

Maybe it's because there's no wind tonight, but this is the first time we've heard the Gilo gun battle here in Old Katamon, a seven-minute drive away. The barrage of gunshots, followed closely by two massive thuds as we return fire, the whir of helicopters as they circle the area and the wail of ambulance sirens are unmistakable signs confirming that war is on our doorstep.

My stomach churns as the fear sets in. I feel the tension in my shoulders and back. How vulnerable we all are. Thank God it appears that the Israel Defense Force has finally been given the green light to strike back.

More volleys at 10:30 p.m. Logging in to the Breaking Israel News on the Internet, I see that 12 attacks on 28 apartments in Gilo have taken place tonight. Tonight's activity has been on five streets farther inside Gilo than Anafa Street, which has been the target for the past week. So much for the concrete barriers I saw being lowered into place last Thursday afternoon. More than 100 residents of Anafa Street have taken up the offer of accommodation from the empty hotels in town. So far, there are no Israeli casualties in Gilo apart from one man who was grazed by a sniper's bullet Friday night as he walked into his apartment.

Israel Radio Reshet Bet reports that, before starting their bombardment, the IDF told residents of Beit Jalla to leave their homes. I'm almost certain this item will be left out of the BBC and CNN news.

Tonight is Simchat Torah 5761. In Israel, Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah are celebrated on the same day. This year that day happened to be Shabbat too, so it was a full day's simcha. Since the start of hostilities Shabbat and Yom Tov have proven to be essential to maintaining mental health. The absence of news bulletins, peace and quiet in the neighborhood and a healthy dose of spiritual sustenance do wonders for the soul.

Right before Shabbat, a psychologist from Haifa University was interviewed by phone on the radio. He warned of the onset of the "post-holiday" syndrome for many Israelis. It's kind of like the post-Christmas/New Year's phenomenon in the rest of the world. Most people have been off work all week and on a limited schedule since before Rosh Hashanah, so the return to reality could be quite a shock.

This year, the psychologist noted, things could be worse, since most of us haven't exactly had a relaxing holiday period full of trips and entertainment. Remember, he was speaking the day after we experienced the shock of the death of 64-year-old Rabbi Binyamin Herling, left bleeding on a hill for hours near Mt. Eval after a Palestinian attack.

The psychologist gave some tips for staying on top of things. The main advice he had for these trying times was to maintain normal activity as much as possible. "It's OK to listen to or watch the news," he said. "But there's no reason to subject yourself to watching the same images 10 times a day." People should be going to concerts and football matches and sitting in cafes, otherwise we're just giving them what they want, he added.

I found his words comforting, since I'd spent the entire morning glued to the radio trying to understand how yesterday's tragedy could have occurred.

Walking into shul I feel the tension dissipate. My shul is one of a handful of Orthodox synagogues in Jerusalem where women can fully participate in the simcha of Simchat Torah, so the place is absolutely jammed to the rafters. To make room for the hakafot (parading of the Torah), the chairs are cleared away. During services the singing is especially heartfelt and intense. They must have heard us sing Lecha Dodi to welcome Shabbat five blocks away. It's such a release to experience the spiritual high of praying together with a congregation of hundreds of voices, where everyone understands exactly what they're saying. As we start to take out the Torah scrolls for the hakafot, the words we sing have so much meaning: "Please, God, save now. Please God, bring success now. Please, God, answer us on the day we call. " We go on to cry out: "God will give might to his people. God will bless His people with peace."

At 11:10 p.m. the guns are not yet silent. I can hear them even with the windows closed. Radio and TV stations have broadcast announcements of the bombardment with appeals for residents to stay calm.

After two hakafot, the women take over the beit midrash, and the men spill out to dance in the street. I can't help thinking that despite the threats here, nobody thinks twice about dancing with the Torah in the streets.

I leave after a few hakafot to go visit a friend who is staging a lone, hastily organized protest demonstration outside the prime minister's residence in nearby Rehavia. Yehiel Leiter, an American-born activist living in the West Bank community of Eli, left his wife and seven children to spend Yom Tov on Ehud Barak's doorstep. Yehiel, who was just released from reserve duty on Tuesday, is outraged by the death of Rabbi Binyamin Herling. He finds it inexplicable that the IDF left the rabbi to bleed to death for five hours in order not to kill Palestinians who attacked the rabbi's group. Yehiel believes it was a political decision made at the highest levels in order not to incur the wrath of world public opinion, and he's determined to make some kind of protest. As we lean on the railings and shmooze, several sympathizers walk over with food and drink, and Yehiel feels encouraged.

I stop by again on Shabbat morning. It's drizzling and cool, but Yehiel is upbeat and grateful for the words of support from dozens of people walking by on their way to shul.

It's quiet in the Old City. The largest group of people around is the Romanian workers enjoying their day off, splayed along the low wall in front of David's Tower chugging cans of beer.

At lunch with former Seattle residents in their apartment in the Jewish Quarter the atmosphere is warm and light-hearted. We eat, sing and purposely try to avoid too much conversation about "the situation." One of the yeshiva students from Seattle brings over a friend who's on medical leave from the army. Nate is just 19. He's from Chicago and signed up for 14 months of service to Israel. Of late Nate has been seeing action in Jericho, but he prefers to talk about the wild Simchat Torah behavior of some of the rabbis at the yeshiva where he was studying until his army service began.

None of the students at the table express any desire to go back to the States because of the unrest, but they all know others whose parents have summoned their kids home. Unfortunately, many tourists have chosen to stay away too, forcing some hotels to close down completely and others to lay off workers. Every taxi driver complains about the lack of business — but some have managed to contract themselves to the foreign press crews roaming the country, and they can be seen driving around with the hoods of their vehicles emblazoned with the word "TV" written in duct tape.

It's past midnight and the sounds of battle seem to have stopped for the night. Once again, a minor miracle — no Israeli casualties reported.