It’s January 6, 2009. It’s the eleventh day of the Israeli attack on the Gaza Strip, and the district is barricaded: no one can enter, no one can leave. No witnesses can therefore document from within, beyond the absolute blockade imposed by the occupation troops. Only the wounded, the dead, and a few trucks carrying medical supplies pass through the Egyptian border. Those on this side of the border reporting on the war must make do with a few words stolen from those accompanying the wounded, while all the cameras are pointed beyond the border, framing the columns of black smoke between the houses in the distance. Suddenly, a breach opens, and the eyes of few possible witnesses flow like water through a crack. Among these eyes are those of a director with his camera.