In our convertible en route home from a Yom Kippur camping trip in Sinai while living in Israel, my husband and I dodged a gauntlet of rock throwing, orthodox boys positioned upon a precipice outside an observant village. We vowed to remain at home on that holiday ever after and, holed up indoors the following year, felt safe from the projectiles of fanatically devout youth. But as we heard the rumble of tanks in the distance, we were soon to find out that a much greater peril lay in store. It was 1973 and the Yom Kippur war had begun.

—Rita Hall, a retired art director who lives on Long Island, now devotes her time to political action, arts fundraising, writing, singing and when lucky, her grandson.