The playgrounds are empty, the schools transformed into bunkers and the residents depressed. Welcome to Sderot, a small town in southern Israel and a main target for rockets fired by Palestinian militants from the neighboring Gaza Strip.
As most of the rockets fired from Gaza are homemade, constructed from plumbing pipes in clandestine workshops and with a reach of up to 10 kilometers (six miles), most of the projectiles land in or around this town of 24,000.
And they do so with dogged frequency -- around 1,000 rockets since the start of the second Palestinian uprising in September 2000, killing six people and traumatizing the population.
A November 26 ceasefire between the Israeli army and Gaza militants has failed to produce respite, except for slightly diminishing the frequency of the hits -- around 100 rockets have since been fired with most, as usual, falling around Sderot.
In the city mental health center that she directs, Adriana Kat is exasperated.
"We are following more than 5,000 people, including 1,700 who have come in for consultations since February. This is an enormous number," she says.
"Insomnia, depression, inability to work, family squabbles, medication dependency -- it is all very serious."
"The worst thing is that we cannot tell them: 'Be patient, it will calm down soon', as for the residents of the north during the war in Lebanon this summer. Here, we know that tomorrow will only be worse."
Suspended above the Israeli-Gaza border next to the town is a white balloon that detects rocket departures and sends an alert to a control room in the town center, where six soldiers are always on duty.
Within seconds, sirens sound across Sderot. Residents know they have 20 seconds to take cover.
"If you're driving, you stop and you rush for a building entrance or a house. If there is nothing around, you hit the ground," says George Adjedj, deputy mayor.
"It has had a terrible effect on the economy. A lot of businesses have closed, others have left. Before, there was much activity here, especially in textiles with manpower from Gaza. Now everything is closed."
The real estate market has also collapsed in Sderot and unemployment is endemic among the population, half of whom are immigrants from the former Soviet Union who arrived in the country after 1991.
Recently, the town hall advertised 53 building lots for sale for one shekel (18 euro cents, 24 US cents) each. "Four people called up to find out more. No one bought anything," Adjedj sighs.
In the back yard of the police station lies a stock of rocket remains: hundreds of bent and rusty tubes, each marked in chalk with the date and time of impact.
One rocket fell six weeks ago on a small square where 54-year-old Simon Gabay, unemployed for four years, was having a coffee.
"We're poor here so we don't count," says the thin, tired-looking man wearing a biker jacket. "If the rockets were falling in the suburbs of Tel Aviv, the army would have found a solution a long time ago."
"This has been going on for six years ... Those who had the means to leave did it long ago. Those who are still here are people like me. They are people who don't have a choice."
Workers in a nearby street lay a thick steel plate on the roof of a bank, as 25-year-old Ilanit Elgazar sells sandwiches in a small shop in the street. As sirens ring out once again, she runs into the back of the kitchen.
"I dream of leaving this cursed town, but my husband works here ... What is the solution? The army should invade Gaza and kill the terrorists. And if civilians die, too bad. They kill us, so kill them."
