Could you help me, please?

58 days until the incident

I crawled across the map and carefully observed my target. Using a sniper rifle with a high-precision scope, I aimed at her head and fired.

“Come on, that’s not fair,” Natália said, watching her avatar drop and the words “you’re dead” appear on her laptop screen.

Paulinha just laughed.

The girls and I were playing Call of Duty together, each of them on their own laptop.

I laughed.

“Better luck next time,” I said.

It was Tuesday—game night. The girls and I set that night aside to play until ten, when it was time to go to bed.

“Alright, I give up. I’m going to get something to eat,” Natália said, placing the computer on the cushion and standing up. “Do you want me to bring you something from the kitchen, dad?”

“Just a juice box and a sandwich.”

“I want something too,” Paulinha said, getting up and leaving her laptop behind.

While the girls were gone, I left the game and checked social media. It was the same as always. The war in the Middle East continued, with Israel receiving thousands of missiles and the international community criticizing it for defending itself.

“The world is incredibly hypocritical,” I muttered.

In 2023, Hamas, a terrorist group from Gaza, invaded Israel and took several hostages. After many negotiations, deaths, and war, the hostages—both living and dead—were finally returned to their families. Then it happened again. A terrorist group linked to Hamas invaded southern Israel during Passover and took more hostages, and the war has continued ever since.

Anti-Israel protests in São Paulo continued, causing widespread destruction of Jewish institutions and even the murder of Jews and their supporters.

“I think I should delete my social media to keep my sanity,” I said, scrolling through the news.

Natália brought what I had asked for: a box of apple juice and a vegan burger. I closed the apps.

“It’s time for bed, girls.”

And it was true—it was already past ten. The girls pouted, holding their snacks.

“Eat your food and go to bed. You have school early tomorrow.”

They sat down and ate. I went out to the apartment balcony and looked at the city lights and the flow of cars. Far away, beyond the sea, a war was being fought between freedom and terrorism—and most of the world was on the wrong side.

“Dad, we’re done,” Paulinha said, holding onto my pant leg.

I picked her up and held Natália’s hand. I put Paulinha in bed and kissed her forehead.

“Dad, is it true that we’re going to die one day?”

“Paula, what kind of question is that?”

I looked at Nat and then back at Paulinha.

“Sweetheart, whether we die or not, I don’t know. But I do know one thing: we have the promise that Jesus will return and give us eternal life, so death and pain will be gone from this world forever.”

“Forever, dad?”

“Yes, forever.”

“So you’ll never die again in that new world?”

“That’s right, my love. Never again.”

“Then I hope Jesus comes back soon.”

I kissed her forehead again and turned off the light. I took Natália to her bed. She had her head down, looking thoughtful.

“Do you want to say something, Nat?”

She just shook her head.

I tucked her in.

As I was about to leave, she grabbed my arm.

“If God is loving, why would He burn so many people in hell?”

I knelt beside her bed again.

“It’s not God who decides who goes to hell—that’s a personal decision. God won’t force someone to go to heaven if they don’t want to.”

She nodded. I kissed her forehead and turned off the light.

57 days until the incident

A girl was carrying three heavy grocery bags across a supermarket parking lot. I watched while putting my own groceries into the car. She wore a blue blouse, a long patterned skirt, and had a head covering—a kind of scarf Jewish girls wear. Her eyes were green and her hair was blonde.

She lifted the bags again, then set them down. She looked at me with a tired expression.

“Could you help me, please?”

“Sorry… it’s just that with all these feminist movements nowadays, I feel a bit hesitant about helping a girl.”

“I’m not a feminist. I appreciate a man’s help—even from a skinny one like you.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, then crouched and picked up one of the bags.

“You’re stronger than I thought,” she said as we walked through the parking lot.

“Thanks. Where are we taking these?”

“To that taxi over there.”

We approached a silver car with a taxi sign on the hood. The driver was tall, Caucasian, and had a thin beard.

“Where are you going? Wait… are you Jewish?”

He looked at the girl with clear disgust.

“I am. Why?”

“You people are terrorists. I don’t take terrorists in my car.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“You kill children. Dirty Jew.”

I grabbed the man by the neck and slammed him against his car.

“You’re going to get in your car and get out of here,” I said, tightening my grip.

He nodded, eyes wide.

I threw him to the ground, ripped the taxi sign off his car, and threw it in the trash.

“You don’t deserve this job. Now get out of here.”

He got up, got into the car, and drove off.

“What did you do?” the girl asked.

“I dealt with an idiot the way he deserved.”

She looked shaken.

“Well… thank you. We deal with this kind of thing every day. I even stopped using the bus because of the hate.”

“Yeah… I thought this only happened in São Paulo, but it seems it’s reached here too. I can drive you home, if that’s okay.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

We walked to my car.

“São Paulo is unbearable. Many Jews have left São Paulo and Rio looking for safer places. Several of my Jewish brothers went to the Amazon. My family and I came here.”

I put her groceries in the car and opened the passenger door. When she got in, she noticed the child seat and booster in the back.

“Are you married? Do you have children?”

“No—and yes. I adopted two daughters.”

“Wow… that’s amazing. I’ve never seen that before. A single man adopting two children.”

“So, where to?” I asked, pulling onto the road.

“Loteamento Recife, near an Adventist church. By the way, my name is Layla.”

“Nilton.”

We arrived at a simple place in Loteamento Recife—not exactly a house, but a group of six small units together.

“You live here?” I asked while helping unload the groceries.

“We rented the whole building. Thank God all the rooms were empty. Thirteen families are living in five small units. These are my brothers—Yudah, Yakub, and Yuseph—and their wives.”

There were about fifty people living there, packed into small spaces. Some mattresses were outside, suggesting that not everyone slept indoors. Some children played in the yard while others watched TV.

Despite being small and crowded, everything was very organized.

“I just want to thank you in the name of Hashem—blessed be His name—for your help,” Layla said, shaking my hand.

“You have our eternal gratitude,” Yakub said. He was tall and had a thick beard.

“You can come to my apartment if you need anything. It’s in Cohab Massangano. Bring the children—they’ll enjoy playing with my daughters.”

“We appreciate your kindness,” he said with a smile.

When I left the place and got into my car, I felt uneasy. A senseless war that had begun in the Middle East was now reaching our doorstep.

And were we ready for what was coming?

That question would be answered on the day of the incident.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***