I myself being lifted off the floor and ever so gently carried through the building

Dovid

My head throbbed, and I could barely open my right eye. Someone had brought me here. They had even wrapped my head in something. Some piece of cloth they must have taken from who knows where. I could hear all the people around me talking, whispering, sharing stories about the things they had endured. I heard something about buses that would take us to Yerushalayim. To the hospital. I could feel Mama beside me. It hurt to open my eyes so I didn’t even try, but I knew she was there.

And then there was a rustle and some noise.

“Dovid?” Elka said in a hushed tone. “No, don’t try to open your eyes,” she added, and I quickly squeezed my eyes shut again. “Dovid, the buses are here. They’re taking us to Yerushalayim now.”

“Good,” I spat. I couldn’t wait to get out of this terrible place. It wasn’t even Chevron I wanted to leave, it was this horrible British police station. None of this would have happened if the Brits had cared even one drop about the Jews. They didn’t protect us when we begged them to come and help, and even now — who did they lock up inside the jail? The Jews, obviously, while the terrible Arabs who slaughtered us for no good reason could roam the streets and steal whatever we left in our houses. If not for the British, some Jews might have had guns. We could have defended ourselves. But no, they didn’t let, because why should they care if the Arabs kill Papa? Kill us all? My forehead might have felt like it was burning from the stab to my eye, but shooting anger licked through my wounds and burned even stronger.

“Dovid.” Elka touched my arm, her voice full of concern. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, and pain shot through my head and down my arm.