It was one of those short drizzly winter Fridays in Israel when your mother’s busy in the kitchen and your father’s rushing around with olive oil and they’re both asking you to help with the chores you like the least.

So when there was a break in the rain and my father asked me if I wanted to help him fetch a large box of fruit from the other side of our neighborhood I was thrilled. I ran to get my bike and followed my father out. Without my helmet.

We were on our way back home when my bike skidded on the wet sidewalk. I flew into the air and stopped when my head hit a jagged brick wall.

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