“Oh, come on Dovid.” Yitzchok made a face. “You’re the one who keeps telling me we need action! A plan! Now we have one”
“Kerosene?” I whispered, staring at the familiar bottle in Yitzchok’s hand. We had a kerosene stove in our apartment.
He nodded.
“And what do you plan to do with it? Cook?” This wasn’t making any sense. And what was with all the secrecy?
YItzchok gave me a long look before answering. “No,” he finally said. “Dovid, don’t you see? We can douse a rope in kerosene, attach it to the gasoline tank of one of their cars, and BOOM!” he clapped his hands to emphasize his point.
I got it. An explosion. Yitzchok wanted to blow up a British car. I looked over at Yitzchok, suddenly unsure. I mean, talking about it all was one thing, but this plan? Suddenly I felt very unsettled.
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