Last night's close call.

We were gathered ’round the news (which is awful). I went to the kitchen to get everyone some more water, and as I was closing the fridge, I heard a fairly loud explosion, different from the nightly fireworks by the local arsim.

“Did anyone hear that?”

Exactly a minute later, the TV reported that a peguah happened in Armon HaNatziv.

Sound familiar? Armon HaNatziv is the small neighborhood where we’re getting married. It neighbors a few peaceful Jerusalem Arab villages.

Me and my almost-cousin headed to our big bay window and could see the neighborhood in the near distance. We watched at nothing and wondered.

That was pretty much reality biting. My first concern was that my parents wouldn’t hear – or understand – the news. The second was to find out more details.

After finding out more, it came to light that it wasn’t actually a suicide bombing, or a bombing at all, but a Palestinian ‘gunmen’ working his way into Jerusalem. The police were attempting to stop him and he shot two of them, one seriously injured and one lightly. The gunmen was shot afterward.






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