“I’m not doing this!” the mother screamed. “Tell everyone they can go home — I won’t hold my baby’s Bris while rockets are on the way.” It’s not every day a mohel has to balance such tensions, but when war breaks out, the eighth day waits for no one.

The event was scheduled for Shabbat morning, south of Jerusalem, an hour’s walk from my hometown. My plan was simple: attend an early morning minyan near home, grab a bite to eat, and head to the bris. At the time, I had no idea what was on the horizon.

As we finished Parashat Zachor — the command to both remember and eradicate our biblical arch nemesis Amalek — the cantor ascended the bimah. When he uttered the final line of the Prayer for the State of Israel, the first siren rang out. Everyone scattered, running for their homes and bomb shelters.

It turned out to be a different warning, one intended to alert the country that Israel’s strike on Iran had begun and retaliations were imminent. It wasn’t a question of if, only when.

This was not the first time I had to perform a brit milah under rocket fire. During........

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