Encouraged by their hawkish mayor, Eli Moyal, they set up protest tents, crying out, "Conquer Gaza now," and demanded that the Israeli military take action. When Israel did take action, it did not help much: The rockets returned.
The teenagers at Sderock seem less convinced that more force will calm their lives down. Their music captures their angst.
Don't Break a song one group recorded for Independence Day celebrations, focuses on their sense of defiance and fear:
"We won't break; we won't be afraid," the chorus goes.
And then:
"How does the state abandon
This war, who is extending his hand?
They do nothing, when it comes to you."
The verse ends with "Shma Yisrael," which translated literally is a command: "Hear, O Israel." It is also a reference to the ubiquitous Jewish prayer that is said during daily worship and also on one's deathbed.
With the success of so many musicians in the last decade, the city has poured considerable resources into cultivating more talent. The city estimates that it spends US$30,000, a considerable portion of its budget, on music. International groups have invested hundreds of thousands of US dollars on projects like Sderock.
Chaim Uliel and Micha Biton, native sons who became successful performers and producers, teach classes here. Biton, 42, mused about how much more sophisticated the youngsters are.
"When my older brother was the first one to get a guitar, it was like a diamond," he said. "All the neighbors came over. It was something that everyone wanted to touch. That's not something so exciting or special anymore."
With so many opportunities, Biton said, one of the city's younger stars is almost certain to rise to the top soon. In particular, Biton has his eyes on Hagit Yaso, 17, a daughter of Ethiopian immigrants.
"Singing is just what we do," said Hagit, who has won several festival competitions in the country. "We do it to escape, to smile, to laugh." In a sign of the ever-shifting identity here, she raised her nose a bit at the suggestion that she would perform Oriental music. Asked which musicians she admired most, she did not hesitate: Mariah Carey and Beyonce.
For their teachers, it is only a matter of time before the younger students become more political in their songs and outlook. A byproduct of parents' insistence that their children stay inside to avoid the crash of Qassam rockets, the music shelters have become more popular than the basketball courts.
Biton's anthem for Sderot has become a sort of mantra for the residents: "I don't leave the town for any Qassam."
Oz, who has become a sort of ambassador of Israeli kitsch, says he is determined to sing about a place that lives in a constant tension between joy and sorrow, always navigating cultural divides.
"Our music is a bit schizophrenic, but that is how life is," said Oz, who now lives in Tel Aviv but visits Sderot frequently. "There is always a double kind of meaning. The point is to show everybody that's normal here."
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