Another thing the setting sun did was to get reflected in the bus stop plastic.
It felt so symbolic that the reflected sun was going down, that the light of day was fading, right next to the army's death announcement for Staff Sergeant Noam Rosenthal, son of Martin and Osnat, of Meitar.
He was just 20, a combat medic in the Armored Corps.
Noam was the second (and please God, the last) boy from Meitar, my small town, to die in the Gaza operation.
photo: IDF Spokesman's Office
Noam and three of his comrades were killed on the night of August 1 when a mortar shell fired from Gaza exploded in a staging area inside Israel's Eshkol Regional Council, near the Gaza border.
Fifteen other soldiers were wounded in the incident.
As I heard on TV, they had just come back from combat and were getting some sleep on the ground next to their tanks when the mortar hit.
Within seconds these small but deadly mortars reach our border area with only a shrieking sound of warning; no Red Alert sirens, no Iron Dome.
The families who live in Sderot and in kibbutzim and moshavim near Gaza have suffered from sporadic mortar fire for years. -- Imagine their children who are growing up in this constant fear. Innocent civilians . . .
(Linking to Weekend Reflections.)