Where The Hell Are The Rockets Coming From?

Countless Rockets, Limited Options: Even With Border Town Under Attack, Some Israelis See No Choice but to Remain

While this article speaks to the helplessness experienced by Israelis caught in the fray, one can easily draw the same conclusions about Palestinians and Lebanese civilians--those who only want to live quietly and peacefully--as they experience life on the other side of the battle lines. It is also clear that a series of refugees places--operated by an international coalition that is not involved in the fighting or the background supplying of the conflicts--are needed to protect those that do not want to participate in the fight, but have no choice but to be caught in the middle of the fray.

But this raises the question: Where the hell are all these rockets coming from? It is not easy to store military weaponry is even small quantities. The Hezbollah and Hamas factions seem to have an unlimited supply of rockets. We know where the Israelis are getting their weapons. We surmize that these Islamist/extremist factions are being supplied by Iran and Syria.

What we should do is stop supplying Israel and force the hand of those nations supplying Hamas and Hezbollah to cease their intervention. Sooner or later the arms race will become a lost option and the war will have to either cease or become a hand-to-hand conflict. I'd rather see the hand-to-hand conflict than this indiscriminant casting of the military net over innocent civilians.

KIRYAT SHEMONA, Israel, Aug. 3 -- "We are surviving, that is all," explained Anastasia Friedman, as yet another warning siren blared through this shellshocked northern town.

Just beyond her ground-floor window, shattered two days ago, sat a half-dozen abandoned cars, their roofs caved in, their doors pierced by hundreds of small metal balls. Blowing piles of trash covered the sidewalks, some collected in telltale craters.

Too agitated to sit, Friedman gestured wildly, and spoke disconnected thoughts: about her son who spent all day in town as rocket after rocket fell, about a recent wave of robberies, about arriving here from Belarus four years ago with no idea what to expect.

The noise stopped. She seemed to smile. And then, a sound like a thunderclap knocked her forward. Shards of white plastic blinds struck her back. She ran to her stoop, stepping over a small gray cat, bloodied and taking shallow breaths. Asphalt was torn from the street, and water cascaded from a busted pipe.

"This is craziness," said Friedman, 54.

Forty-three rockets fell on Kiryat Shemona on Thursday, including one about 30 feet from Friedman's front door in a downtrodden hillside neighborhood along Eilat Street. Like much of northern Israel, the town is almost entirely abandoned. More than three-quarters of its residents migrated weeks ago to cities south of here and out of rocket range.

As in other vulnerable towns along the Lebanon border, most of those left behind are a mix of unfortunates: the immigrants and the elderly, the disabled and the poor, or those who simply have nowhere to go.

"There are some patriots who wanted to stay for that reason and some people wanted to protect their homes, but mostly those who could take their families out, did," said Moshe Fanchi, a social worker coordinating volunteer activity across Israel's north.

Eight Israeli civilians died in rocket attacks Thursday, bringing the nationwide total to 27.

Somehow, no one has been killed here. Located close to the border with southern Lebanon, Kiryat Shemona has borne the brunt of Hezbollah's three-week barrage. Since July 12, police say, 485 rockets fell in or around the town, more than anywhere else.

On Eilat Street on Thursday, people said they felt imprisoned in their own homes.

Large communities of immigrants, first from Morocco and later Russia and the former Soviet republics, made their homes on these blocks, shuttled by the government to the country's frontier.

Saada Azriel, 62, came from Morocco "young and pretty" 30 years ago, she said. "Now, I am old and alone."

She stayed behind when her son and his family left for Tel Aviv two weeks ago. Partially paralyzed by a stroke six years ago, she stumbles around her small apartment cluttered with dozens of glass figurines and paper plates from the boxed lunches town volunteers bring her most days. Because she lives on the second floor, she said, she can't make it to the basement bomb shelter and almost never leaves.

"If I was healthy maybe I'd have chosen differently, but I don't like to bother anyone," she said.

Two doors down, Chasan Simon, 31, with the black clothes and bushy beard of an Orthodox Jew, sat on a bench with friends.

He had left town for Afula with his wife and two children when the rockets began to fall. But he ran out of money, he said, and began to beg on the street. Eventually his family moved in with his in-laws, and he came home.

"I was depressed. I fought with my wife and family," he said. "I couldn't sleep. I had to come back."

Residents complained angrily about their bomb shelter. Unlike those in other neighborhoods and other towns, it is squalid and tiny, with only a dozen steel-frame bunk beds, most of which do not have mattresses. There is no air conditioning or television. The concrete floor is uncarpeted.

"The situation in Kiryat Shemona is very bad," said Shlomi Vaknin, 41, a day laborer in a town where virtually every business is shuttered. "In Tel Aviv, there is opportunity, here there is nothing. All we get is war, rockets and no work."

When the rocket struck 30 minutes later, Eilat Street was empty. Seconds later, residents streamed from their homes to survey the damage. Three police cars arrived, the officers clad in green flak vests and helmets. They shouted at residents to go inside. No one seemed to listen.

An ambulance arrived, and a woman shouting nonsense was loaded into the back. Mayor Haim Barbivay then drove up, and residents grew more agitated.

"Haim, get us out of here," one middle-aged man shouted. "If you can't take me, at least take the old people or the sick people. Do something!"

"We can't evacuate everybody," Barbivay said. "I don't know what you want me to do. We give you food. We will give you anything you want."

He opened his car door. "Where are you going?" a teenage girl demanded to know. "Come see how we are living."

Another warning siren wailed, and the streets quickly cleared again. The mayor drove off. Inside a shelter, a dozen people stood along a wall, waiting in silence.

"That's it. I've had enough," said Maman Cerny, leaning out the door with no shirt and his hands in the pockets of his running shorts. "I've been in this crap for 20 days. Tomorrow, I am leaving."