Suddenly, we could hear the sound of glass breaking.
It was quiet as we sat there waiting for something to happen. Even baby Yisroel didn’t cry, almost as if he could feel the fear in our pounding hearts and knew not to make a sound. But that was only inside. Outside, we could hear screams and shouts and pounding and running, though we dared not look out the window in case an Arab would spot us and choose to come after us next.
And then the sounds came even closer. It was almost as if the men were standing beneath our window, screaming in their hunt for another Yahud to eliminate from this earth.
“Elka,” Papa said in a hushed, frantic voice, “take the children into the washroom.” He looked at Mama, “You go too. If we open the door of the bedroom, the washroom door will be blocked.”
“What about you, Yosef?” Mama asked, fear making her voice catch.
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