A thick black cloud rose Thursday morning from Soroka Hospital in Be'er Sheva, southern Israel's largest medical center, after it was directly hit by an Iranian missile. As one approaches the site, the acrid smell of smoke and burnt material grows stronger.The destruction is visible at every step: shattered windows, scorched walls. But despite the heavy damage, the words "luck" and "miracle" can be heard repeatedly.Just yesterday, mere hours before the explosion, the upper floors of the old, northern surgery building, which absorbed the brunt of the impact, were evacuated. One of the workers recounts that even after the evacuation, staff and patients remained on the first three floors. Another worker tells him, "There is a God in heaven, it's crazy luck." The Home Front Command sees it less spiritually. For them, it's mainly about the proper execution of safety guidelines. "Soroka was prepared for an emergency in advance, and there were no patients on the two top floors," said a senior official in the Southern District of the Home Front Command. Yet he added, almost in a whisper, "There was probably also luck involved. It could have ended completely differently." Israel At War: Reporting, analysis, and verified updatesEmail *Please enter a valid email addressA patient being evacuated from Soroka Hospital after the strike on Thursday.Credit: Eliyahu HershkovitzThe fire in the building raged for hours. Initially, rescue forces feared that dangerous substances had leaked, and access to the compound was prohibited. Only when heavy black smoke rose from the upper floors, and the fire did not subside, did they realize it was a stubborn blaze. After extinguishing the fire, the extent of the destruction became clear: collapsed ceilings, walls cracked open, shattered windows. The adjacent buildings were also damaged: entire corridors were blackened, and the floors were strewn with glass shards and building debris. About 80 people were lightly injured by the missile strike, half of them hospital staff. More than 700 patients were initially staying in various units, and now only about 300 remain. Soroka, southern Israel's medical anchor, has stopped accepting new patients, except for emergency cases and life-threatening situations.The collapse of an Israeli high-rise exposed the country's unsteady social foundations'Years of work down the drain': Iranian missile tore through Israel's science instituteIsrael's health ministry to hospitals: Prepare to discharge mothers 12 hours after birthThe internal medicine building has been evacuated. Teams run through the corridors with forms, stretchers, and medical records, preparing for the mass transfer of patients to hospitals across the country. The surgery department has become a makeshift transit station, discharge forms are hastily signed, units are quickly evacuated. Amidst this chaos, along a bypass road, a reservist from the search and rescue team slowly pushes an elderly woman on a wheelchair, who is expected to be transferred to another hospital. The woman speaks only Arabic. She is confused, suffering, muttering unintelligibly, and occasionally emitting silent cries of pain. The soldier tries to soothe her gently. The entrance to Soroka Hospital on Thursday.Credit: Eliyahu HershovitzA tour between the departments reveals the magnitude of the blow. Artyom Avlevich, an orthopedic intern, was in a morning meeting in the building adjacent to the surgery unit when he heard the explosion. The blast also damaged that building."All the patients and staff were already in the protected space. After the impact, we moved those who were in the protected areas to the ground floor. There was no electricity in the building." Now, he says, his entire unit is shut down. The operating rooms are dark and silent. Dozens of medical staff in purple and blue, masks on their faces, are not fighting for patients this time but for equipment. They load everything that can be salvaged onto carts, moving through cracked walls and flooded floors, with flashlights trying to pierce the darkness. Rescue workers managed to extract some life support machines and monitors. A life-saving center turned into a disaster area in an instant.Patient evacuated from Soroka Hospital after the Iranian strike on Thursday.Credit: Eliyahu HershkovitzThe laboratories were not spared either. One of them, which operated in collaboration with Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, was severely damaged. The university reported that equipment worth millions of shekels was destroyed, and that it would take years to reconstruct the research.The lab dealt with the way the regulation of the exchange of materials serves as a basis for drugs against tumors, infectious diseases and diabetes. Beyond their research contribution, the labs were responsible for rapid diagnoses, interpreting results and advising medical treatment. A nurse passing through the hall stopped to talk even as she was carrying dozens of blood samples that hadn't been damaged. "It's a small lab for us, but there are large labs that currently aren't operating, so I think the hospital won't be able to function properly," she said. "You could say it's been shut down." Home Front Command teams transfer patients from Soroka to other hospitals on Thursday.Credit: Eliyahu HershkovitzIn front of the pediatric emergency ward, which has been turned into a makeshift evacuation center, dozens of patients wait. Some are on stretchers, others in wheelchairs. Their faces show shock, confusion, pain. Some are connected to IV's, others are unable to speak. Most are alone, without family members, perhaps because entry to the hospital is blocked.An elderly woman in a wheelchair tries to understand what is happening, where she is being taken to. "To Tel Aviv," one of the nurses replies – and the elderly woman screams, confused and frightened. "Does she have children? Where are they?" asks a soldier who knows the woman and came to accompany her. "I don't know," the nurse answers. "We have to evacuate her now," the soldier decides. The woman is carefully transferred to an intensive care bus that operates in emergencies. She is lifted from the bed and into the bus. Inside – rows upon rows of evacuation beds, silent, ready for the journey. Between thoughts of an absolute miracle and the sights of severe and extensive destruction, the future of Soroka is now hazy. Repairing the damage will take a long time, and it is unclear where patients from Israel's southern communities can receive treatment during this period."To Tel Aviv," one of the nurses answered her. The old woman screamed, confused and afraid.Breaking news and the best of Haaretz straight to your inboxEmail *Please enter a valid email address"Does she have children? Where are they"" the soldier asked an acquaintance of the old woman who had come to keep her company."I don't know," she answered."We've got to evacuate her now," the soldier decided.The woman was carefully brought to a bus that provides intensive care during emergencies. She was lifted from the bed to a lift, which slowly raised her and moved her into the belly of the bus. Inside, there was row upon row of beds for evacuation. They were silent, ready to go.Amid the thoughts of an absolute miracle despite the severe and widespread damage, a dark cloud hovers over the future of Soroka. Fixing the damage will require a lot of time. It's not clear where the many wounded and sick from southern communities will be taken to while it's closed for repairs.