And once again the familiar break in the regular radio broadcast, a bus. But this time - an unfamiliar jolt. They're talking about somewhere I know very well. It can't be, I think. The shock at hearing the familiar road names immediately brings tears to my eyes. This is my childhood neighborhood. I can immediately envision the exact spot and it brings with it a spontaneous flood of such strong memories, even though I haven't been there for many years. The bus stop is the one I stood at, waiting for the bus to school every day, all those years ago. No. 37 bus. This is the bus I took to school. I feel like I am standing right there at the bus stop. I feel like I am getting on the bus too. In my day, this bus would have been very full at this time of the day. Maybe school kids had just got on the bus at the bus stop, having cut through HaSport Street from Ironi Hey High school, on their way home at the end of the school day. Maybe students were on their way to their lectures in Haifa University.
The thought that this place, home of so many fond memories, has been torn apart like this is very hard. How could this happen there? And I didn't even know I felt like this about my old "shkhuna".
At least fifteen dead. About forty wounded.