This is the scene of this morning's rocket attacks on a five-storey, dilapidated apartment block, that killed three people as they ate their breakfast.
The kitchen sink in the flat that suffered the direct hit is filled with the usual pots and pans, sitting in a masses of broken crockery and chunks of plaster that was blown over.
An upside down kettle lies beneath what looks like a broken part of a kitchen cupboard. A fridge lies overturned on its side, covered in rubble. If you stumbled across the room by accident, you would be forgiven for thinking that it had been abandoned for months, and not just since a fatal breakfast meeting that morning.
Thick grey dust covers everything except for the odd flash of a yellow dustpan, or a red cerial box.
In a room that resembles a bedroom, the mattresses are turned on their sides, springs are poking out and the legs of the bed base point sharply upwards at odd angles. The overhead lights have been blown off and are now swinging slowly on a flimsy wire from the ceiling.
The walls are cracked and are splashed in places with what looks like drying brown blood. Bright sunlight pours in through the giant hole where a fourth wall should have been - from here, you can see directly towards Gaza.
The tree branches outside the flat are no longer bare - clothing which was blown several metres from the flat now hang there. The ground is strewn with bits of metal, splintered wooden boards and items of clothing. Occasionally, bits of glass collapse from the window frames above and fall on the ground.
The Israeli army said some 250 missiles were launched from Gaza in revenge for the airstrike assassination of Hamas's top military commander yesterday.
One young yeshiva student I met along the way said that he heard a loud blast 'as if it was happening just outside' and ran into the shelter in his seminary.
The residents of the apartment block that was hit had no such luxury. Arie Spekter, a resident of the second floor for the past year, said that the single shelter room for the 16 flats is downstairs and stuffed full of people's belongings.
'The flats are very small here and people need all they storage space they can get,' he says.
When the rockets hit there was nowhere to run. Mr Spekter has bloodshot eyes and is holding his 11-year-old daughter Dina close to him.
'I'd just finished a night shift, and came home and wanted to relax,' he says. 'As soon as the alarms started we woke up.
'We opened the doors and gathered the neighbour's children in our flat so that they would be safe from this side.
Mr Spekter said that safety was the first issue on his mind when he moved into the flat.
I follow him inside the apartment. On the second floor, all the windows have been blown away. On the fifth, instead a wall is a blasted hole, approximately four metres square.
The light pouring into the devastated room illuminates clothes, household utensils, pillows and blankets which are scattered around, everything discoloured by the thick grey dust still falling from the ceiling. In the corner lies a still unopened plastic packet of baby clothing.
'My wife wants to go to Rehovot,' Mr Spekter tells his friend on the phone.
Later on, she curls up on the sofa and covers her head with her arms.
'What's remarkable is that I'm more angry with the Israeli government than with the Arabs', says Mr Spekter.
Gilad Erdon, a member of parliament from PM Netanyahu's Likkud party, and minister of environmental protection arrived on the scene in the late afternoon.
When asked how it was possible that residents in this building had no safe shelter, he replied 'It's almost impossible to protect our citizens 100 per cent, especially in areas such as this, where families live with many children in cramped conditions.
Another neighbour from the next street, Yosef Ladayo, an ultra-Orthodox resident in his 60s, describes how his daughter could not sleep because of the alarms.
'She was so scared,' he says.
Onlookers and neighbours are gathered outside.
'I'm standing here and I'm still scared in case there's another alarm. Where can we be safe?' asks Maya from Tajikistan who has been a resident here over the past 20 years.
When asked if she would consider moving, she shrugs and throws up her hands.
Some time in the late afternoon, two more explosions are heard.
Although they sound far away, a woman screams. A little boy, no more than 7 years old sitting huddled up holding his pet turtle. He asks quietly, 'mama, will you protect me?' A neighbour comes in and tries to reassure everyone - "they never hit the same building twice".
People want to leave their houses, at least for a few days, but are worried about losing their jobs.