It was 6.30am, in the half-light of Israel’s early morning, when Yonatan Shamriz’s wife, Natali, called out to him that she had heard the sound of rockets overhead. In the kibbutz of Kfar Aza, they were accustomed to rockets. Aza is a Hebrew spelling of Gaza, nkly three miles away: once an easy drive away for kebabs by the beach but now another world, enclosed and hostile.
In the best of times the residents tried to live ordinary lives, but the tell-tales signs were always there of a community that was under attack.
Bomb shelters, brightly painted so as not to frighten the children, were strategically located among its rows of bungalows.
