"I LIE down on the pavement and listen to God," the middle-aged road-sweeper reported when asked what he did when the sirens start wailing. They wailed with grating frequency on November 20th in Israeli towns and villages close to the Gaza Strip. Most people, though, seemed to be taking the road-sweeper's philosophical approach on this the seventh—and it is hoped last—day of aerial combat between Israel and Gaza.
Hooked into local and international media around the clock, the Israelis of the south were all au fait with the intense diplomatic activity, and appeared to assume it would soon succeed. The salvoes from Gaza, and the thunder of Israeli warplanes heading towards the strip, were knowingly interpreted as the two sides' "finales" as each sought to impress upon their respective publics that they had "won".
Ashkelon, a pretty resort town just 13 miles up the coast from Gaza, has made sure its streets are swept and other municipal services function despite the disruption the rockets bring. Schools were all closed, but coffee-shops were open and patrons seemed to make a point of sitting, ordering and calmly eating.
In Ashdod, too, a port city another ten miles to the north, life seemed incongruously relaxed between the sirens, the missile-to-missile interceptions high overhead, and the ominous thuds of the ones that get through. Seven people were hurt by flying shrapnel on the streets of Ashdod during the afternoon.
