Yossi Klein Halevi is the Israel correspondent for the New Republic and a senior writer for the Jerusalem Report.
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The latest suicide bombing on Monday at a mall in Petach Tikva, east of Tel Aviv, had the sickening familiarity of routine. Three people, including the suicide bomber, were killed and scores of others injured. We've experienced so many atrocities in the last 20 months of war against civilian Israel that we all know the script: Television programming is pre-empted by reporters at the scene who seem more weary than outraged; the rock music on the radio is displaced by mournful Hebrew songs; the police unit composed of Hasidic Jews gather every piece of scattered flesh for religious burial; the police chief declares that he's doing his best to deter terrorism but that there's no way to completely defend against suicide killers.

And Yasser Arafat solemnly condemns the killers -- even when the terrorists are on his own payroll.

Terrorism has become a part of daily life. One atrocity displaces the next with such rapidity that you lose even the ability to mourn. Psychologists here say that Israeli society is undergoing a collective form of shell shock.

Still, even in the midst of unimaginable horror, people devise ways of coping. If, God forbid, suicide bombings become part of the American landscape -- FBI Director Robert Mueller recently said matter-of-factly that such an attack is ''inevitable'' -- there are some predictable responses that Americans are likely to experience. Knowing what they are isn't likely to make the attacks any easier to bear, but these conflicting coping strategies can be identified from the Israeli precedent:

* Fatalism. Some Israelis have become virtual shut-ins. I know people who now confine themselves to work and home, with quick forays for groceries.

One friend, whose son serves in an elite commando unit, says he's relieved every time his son returns to his base, because he's far more vulnerable simply riding a city bus in Jerusalem.

* Heroism. Others conclude that, if terrorism can happen everywhere, there's no point in confining one's movements anywhere. And rather than flee the scene of attack, some passersby actually try to tackle terrorists. A would-be suicide bomber who entered a crowded Jerusalem cafe was overpowered by a young waiter and others, who pinned the man down until police came and neutralized the bomb in his bag. On the road below my own porch, bus passengers overwhelmed a terrorist wired with explosives.

* Calming mechanisms. Yoga is wildly popular; so are sedatives. Some Israelis follow the minutest details of a terrorist attack, as if knowledge of the incomprehensible imparts control over it. Others deliberately restrict their news intake, especially avoiding the assault of non-stop TV news networks.

* Religious renewal. Faith is experiencing a resurgence. On city buses, it is now a common sight to see young people quietly reciting Psalms, seeking divine protection for what was once a routine trip.

As we try to raise two teenage children in these times, my wife and I veer between deliberate laxness and security zeal. During periods of relative quiet (which in Israel means a major atrocity every few weeks instead of every few days), we allow our children to ride buses and visit malls and cafes. We tell ourselves that the only way to survive this time is to cling to the rituals of routine, maintaining continuity, however tenuous, with our pre-terrorism lives.

But after a particularly deadly attack or one that intrudes into our landscape of routine, we abruptly reconsider. We insist on keeping our children away from public spaces and off buses, instead driving them to school and to their friends. One Saturday night, we forbade our 16-year-old daughter from going downtown; barely an hour later, two suicide bombers blew themselves up near the cafe where she'd planned to meet her friends.

We live with a constant morbidity -- imagining our own deaths and, especially, the deaths of loved ones. No parting is taken for granted; every morning, I make sure to say a proper goodbye to my wife and children.

Friends tend to tell each other how much they mean to one another because -- as one friend who embraced me before parting said -- ''You never know."

This week we're planning a bar mitzvah for our son. Some relatives, fearful of crowded places that could invite a terrorist attack, urged us to delay the event. When we refused, they canceled, even though we explained that no fewer than five guards would be securing the hall. Despite the cancellations, we expect a decent showing. But that, of course, will depend on what happens.

In Israel we used to say: Take one day at a time. Now we say: Hour by hour.

Views expressed by the author do not necessarily reflect those of israelinsider.

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