"Hi, uh, I need to prepare for the war," I awkwardly told the clerk at the Tel Aviv branch of Home Center. Somewhere in my tree-lined Northern Califonia brain, I expected him to have no idea what I was talking about. Instead, he efficiently led me to a section replete with full body chemical protection gear, fire extinguishers, battery-operated radios and lights, a miniature Port-o-Potty for the sealed-off room of choice in one's apartment and what seemed like miles and miles of plastic and tape for covering windows, doors and every other conceivable means of ventilation. Forget chemical weapons. I could just imagine myself suffocating from no oxygen.