A week of rocket and mortar fire from the Gaza Strip into Israeli civilian communities, following months of arson terrorism involving burning balloons and kites launched over the Gaza border fence, mean that the closer you get to communities in the Gaza periphery, the more black you see.
Wherever you look, things are charred. Fields of wheat have been reduced to ash. Rows of trees that used to line the roads are now scorched, silent monuments. The stench hits you and creates a feeling that is hard to put into words. The smell of soot that burns the lungs hovers over the area from Sderot to the Gaza border.
Like in previous clashes, Hamas' main targets in the escalation last week were the Israeli communities close to the border. The Color Red alerts, informing residents of incoming projectiles, came just a few minutes apart, and were followed seconds later by the blasts of the rocket interceptions.
Einat Hamias, a mother of three children aged 12, 15, and 17, was on a walk near her home in Kibbutz Kfar Aza with her daughter and the family dog when an alert sounded.
"It came out of nowhere, in seconds," Hamias recalls. "We were out in the open and as we were walking, I started getting Color Red alerts [on my phone] and seeing the interceptions right overhead. One kid was at the pool, another was on the kibbutz, and I was with my daughter. It's a terrible feeling for a mother to know her kids are exposed and not with her. I lay down on the ground with my daughter, and then it started to get terrifying. I ran under fire to gather my children. We had to lie down on the ground every few seconds."
Yifat Ben-Shushan of Moshav Netiv Haasara, mother to Omer, 10, and Ron, 7, says that on the night between Wednesday and Thursday, her children asked to sleep in their in-home bomb shelter for the first time in four years.
Ben-Shushan refused, insisting that the family cling to a semblance of normalcy.
"For me, the shelter means war. So I was getting up and running to the shelter all night long, but I didn't sleep there," she says. "Personally, it seemed clear to me that we were about to begin an operation [against Hamas in Gaza]. That was what people were talking about. But to a certain extent, I still have faith in the decision makers. I don't feel abandoned. In Operation Protective Edge [in the summer of 2014], when rockets were flying at Tel Aviv, did anyone think about leaving? This is our home."
Ron Tuvia, 26, a student of communications at Sapir College in Sderot, lives not too far away from Ben-Shushan's family on Kibbutz Nahal Oz. Tuvia was raised on the kibbutz and remembers when things were different.
"I remember Abed, who worked here as a painter and was like a member of the family," he says. "They [Palestinians] would sit in our living room and we would go visit them in Gaza. Today, that sounds like a fantasy. It's really sad."
The city of Sderot, which has taken some of the worst of the rocket fire since Operation Protective Edge, is still licking its wounds.
"What was happening here is nothing less than madness," say Eli and Geula Ben-Lulu, parents to 3-year-old Noa.
"The [rocket] fire started when we were at home. We ran into the safe room but we heard them land and the ground shaking. Noa was scared and crying. We hugged her and told her that we have a strong army that was protecting us and there was no reason to worry. People are willing to pay the price, but they can't keep holding us hostage to Hamas," they say.
Albert Yehudai, also of Sderot, says that last week's escalation reminded him of conditions prior to Protective Edge.
"The [next] operation is already in the air, you can smell it. We haven't had a barrage like that in a long time. My house was shaking. Rockets were exploding right next to groups of kids; it was a miracle no tragedy happened. The [Israeli] responses are too forgiving, and they shouldn't have agreed to a cease-fire so quickly. It should have been on our terms, not theirs," Yehudai says.
Lior Yehudai, a shop owner in Sderot, says that "Hamas is testing the boundaries," but says the government "doesn't seem to have any boundaries."
"We have the strongest army in the Middle East and it's just pathetic that a crappy little terrorist group is holding us hostage and running our lives," he adds.
Alma Ravivian, a mother of four, says that "we don't have any other city, and despite all the nice offers by different people and groups to come stay with them and clear our heads because of the terrorism from Gaza, I'm staying in Sderot."
"This is my home. This is where I'm raising my family and this is where I'm staying. I'm not going anywhere else, even though the Qassam rockets can kill and the balloon terrorism is turning everything we see black. I really hope, like everyone who lives in Sderot, that it will be calm again," Ravivian says.
Amid the combative responses heard in Sderot and the Gaza-adjacent communities, a near-complete return to the daily norm can also be seen, particularly among the children and the youth. Now, days after cowering in the shelters, kids can now be seen splashing in pools, riding bicycles and engaging in a plethora of activities.
Tamar, a mother of two who lives in the Eshkol region, says, "My husband is on reserve duty and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. It's not easy living in this atmosphere of terrorism. The [rocket] alerts were insane, but I'm staying. This is my home. I love this area and the people, and I'm not leaving my home on a whim," she says.
Despite the increased tensions, Kibbutz Kerem Shalom recently welcomed a new family. Yedidia, a social work student, and Shira, an architect, arrived with their two children.
Gadi Yarkoni, head of the Eshkol Regional Council, told Yedidia and Shira that their arrival was "a standout expression of the victory of community and spirit over terrorism."
