The glass lobby was empty. As was the boat-less Med whose winter waves kept would be sailors inside their dry homes. February was cold in Israel.
A security guard held open a side door. Warm air welcome us. Mark hauled in our gear. My eyes explored upwards onto the twenty foot golden pillars. They encircled the marbled floor space and established the hotel’s entrance with a strong Samson-like presence. In the middle hung a delicate but modern sphere with countless vanilla colored lights.
Where were they? Two hundred and fifty displaced people lived here. It was their assigned home. Northern border towns had been evacuated. Terrorists, known as Hezbollah and backed by Iran, had fired more than 8,000 Fadi-1 and Fadi-2 unguided rockets in a one year period. Civilian housing, business, and farm destruction followed.
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