In the past few weeks, along with millions of other Israelis, I have heard sirens — so loud that my head wants to explode — warn of incoming missiles. When the alarm sounds, I have fewer than 30 seconds to find shelter. If I am outdoors in the open, I immediately drop facedown to the ground and cover my head, hoping that this missile is one of the 90 percent intercepted by the Iron Dome. Each alarm raises an important and unsettling question: Why me — why us? Why do people who do not know me or my friends want to kill us? As a 16-year old American I have never had to ask myself this question, while my Israeli friends live constantly with the fact that people only miles away want them to die. I found it hard to comprehend why I spent a good deal of time last week in shelters in Ness Ziona, a city whose main strategic value could only be a massive Cinema City (with excellent deals on Israeli chocolate and popcorn combos).