This is from the Guardian: this guy is not trying to kill anyone; he's just trying to get to work.
witness.theguardian.com/assignment/53b3e204e4b0bcfdaf4042e3?page=2&order=latest
"another day at the office
I live in Tel Aviv, but work in Beer She'va so I have to take a 1.5 hrs train ride to work every day. .
For the average person this usually means plenty of time to get stuff done, do some paperwork, read the news, get a bite to eat and listen to some music..
But my train ride consists of me staring out the window, clenching to my seat. Constantly on the lookout, no time for anything else.
I travel through direct missile range for at least 45 minutes. I Can't nod off, or do anything else. The siren might go off, which means I'll have to run for cover and hide.
Did I say hide? I actually meant- lying on the floor of the train, covering my head with my hands. Will it do me any good in case we get hit by a rocket? No. But at least I get to feel like I've done something to protect myself.
I get to work. Safely. I feel lucky. I run to my office (literally run), where a bomb shelter can protect me in case of an attack. This fake feeling of safety keeps me going through the working day- otherwise I'll go mad with worry.
Have you ever heard a bomb siren? Most of you have probably only heard one in old movies. Let me tell you what it sounds like- it starts out like a wailing ambulance in the distance, then gets stronger and louder until yours ears start ringing- with fear, with noise, and you have to run as fast as humanly possible to shelter.
All the mums around me cry out to their children. They are alone and missiles are flying over their heads.
My work is piling up on my desk, but siren after siren means I can't get anything done. A frenzy hubbub of people rushing around me hysterically is all I see.
One siren after the other, and then my day is finally done. I rush back to catch the train home.
Another terrifyingly hour and a half go by until I get back to Tel Aviv. I just want to put my head down and rest after this horribly long day.
But then I hear the blood curdling sound of a distant wail, an ambulance perhaps? No. It grows stronger and closer and I have to rush out to safety. This time- my staircase. Looking at my next door neighbour, in her dressing gown and flip flops.."