Writing hockey is the best medicine -- for me at least. Certainly a distraction from the horror we have witnessed in this tiny country since the weekend.

It's the sixth day of the war, and for five-plus days, I've tried to write something -- and failed.

There's so much to write, and it's so hurtful. My best friend on the kibbutz (El Rom -- in the north of Israel) lost his kid brother, and my son's pal also was killed. The death toll is now 1,300; too much to even contemplate.

My editor, David Kolb, said I should take the day off. Nuts to that. 

Writing hockey is the best medicine -- for me, at least. Certainly a distraction from the horror we have witnessed in this tiny country since the weekend.

Just for the record, my day in Israel begins at about 9 a.m. when I check to see how many goals McDavid has scored and how many his goalkeeper has given up. I root for Vancouver because the Canucks need all the rooting they can get  -- and I study The Panthers 'cause I'm a big Paul Maurice fan.

Now that the season is underway, I keep cautioning myself that one win doesn't mean a Cup, and one loss should not inspire a coach-firing. Fischler's granddaughter's bedroom doubles as a "safe room."

It takes me two hours to digest all the scores and comments, and then I have to figure out what I'm gonna write next that will somehow annoy a Bruins fan in Calgary.

By Noon I should be on my stationary bike in the backyard. My goal is to stay under 160 pounds, and so far, it's working. The weather here is almost always sunny until November, and even a little drizzle here and there is a tonic.

I should say that I'd rather be on a regular bike, but wartime restrictions insist that we either stay in the house or around the house unless shopping is necessary. The beauty part of the stationary bike is that I can read my now favorite book of Robert Benchley stories --"Chips Off The Old Benchley" while pedaling off the pounds.

Every house has a "safe room" where we have to immediately go in case of an alarm. We made two visits the other day, expecting the worst. 

Fortunately, it turned out to be a false alarm.

The "safe room" is small and could be claustrophobic. However, it's appreciated because of what it's called "safe."

We have had an occasional visit from a soldier and are expecting a few momentarily to use our shower. (I'll have to make sure we have hot water, soap, and shampoo.)

The TV news -- only Channel 14 -- is always on, so I check in with my son at least every hour on the hour. And as often is the case, a gripping bit of news can keep me there for an hour.

What I'm saying so far really is a roundabout way of reporting what I've been trying to say for going on six days now:

THANKS! THANKS, and a thousand times THANKS!!!

Thanks to all in the hockey community for sending prayers, good wishes, support, and everything to let me and my family know that the ice community has our backs.

I'm talking about the highest executives, ex-coaches, ex-general managers, Hall of Famers, and even an analytics guy. The list of supporters is so endless I won't even begin to cite names, as tempting as it might be.

As the clouds roll in this late afternoon, I'm aware, as all of us here, -- South, North, East, and West -- know that this war could be long and longer. We have no illusions. I say prayers in the morning and do it again at night. If there is another night without hearing a siren, I look out the window, past the pine needles, up at the sky, and say, "Todah Rabah." (Thanks loads.)

THANKS! Again to each and every one of you, whether your team is Arizona or Toronto; whether you love Brad Marchand or not. 

LOVE,

Mave.