This column is dedicated to the residents living near Gaza and those in the south within range of the Katyusha and Grad rockets. There really is no other option. We in the media are not made of stone, we generate the consensus and define it, we are the biggest opportunists. That is everything for you - and us.

And therefore, our brothers and sisters under attack, we will make every effort to dedicate all this content to you. Our broadcast studios are heading down south, our entertainment shows will delight you in your shelters, our food critics will provide you with gourmet delicacies you can whip up in your protected room, and our sports sections will explain the importance of staying in shape - if you really want to find a place to hide within 15 seconds from the Color Red alert warning. Our culture desk will recommend quality literature for your hours in the shelter, we will let play for an hour with our radio playlists, and we will open the phone lines for you and be here just for you. You egotists.

This is your moment, and we have no intention to hold anything back from you. The first Gulf War we dedicated to the residents of the center of the country, the Second Lebanon War we granted to the residents of the north, and now it is your turn to be pampered too.

We will advise you, identify with you, represent you, talk about you, tell your story, cry with you, laugh with you and sell you. Your story - crime, perversion, tragedy and war - will always make us happy. We are crazy about you here in the center of the country, mostly about your insanity in the periphery.

Squeeze this lemon as much as you can. These are your 15 minutes of fame, so don't waste a second. Supply heart-breaking monologues, give us as much as possible of the other Israel, expose yourselves completely in front of us, complain about anything that moves, hug the IDF, criticize and weep. Please adapt yourselves to every stereotype we have about you. Nu, go on, imitate that guy from Sderot. We do not have time now to think differently, it is not the time for soul searching or a critical look at the media.

God almighty, be responsible, this is a war.

And now it is time for a little gratitude on your part. Do you think it is easy to find retired generals, convince authors and intellectuals to write for you, to remind various stars they too once lived in the south, to play so much Middle Eastern music, to understand your strange accents, to document the emptiness you live in, or to survive the depressing drive to the south? It's not easy, it really isn't. But that's war, and we too are enlisting.

And we still need to hope, for you and for us, that this story will end as soon as possible. Something like a week at most. The routine, you should understand, is killing us just as much as your cities are.

Your stories are starting to repeat themselves, the cost of our crews in the field is enormous, insurance premiums for reporters are not a simple thing in these days of an economic tsunami, and the depression you are casting on the readers/viewers/listeners/surfers may cause them to abandon us, God forbid. And then we will really be mad at you.

But in the meantime, as we said, this column is dedicated to you, the residents of the south. With love.