Help, they are defend themselves

50 days until the incident

We were stuck in traffic on Sete de Setembro Avenue. The light was red, and I was taking the girls to school. There was a car behind us that seemed to be following. When the light turned green, I drove slowly, with the car still on our tail. I checked the time—still early. I turned a corner, and the car followed.

“What the hell does this guy want?” I muttered.

Natália and Paula were both reading a book, absorbed, unaware of the danger behind us.

“Dad, when can we sit in the front seat?” Paulinha asked.

“When you’re tall enough,” I said, barely paying attention.

I turned another corner, then another, and the car disappeared. I went back to the avenue.

As soon as we returned, the car reappeared and slammed into us, sending us straight into a pole.

“You son of a—there are children here!” I shouted.

I was more angry than scared. Thank God my girls followed the rules—the seatbelts had kept them from getting seriously hurt.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine, dad… what happened?”

Ana Paula seemed to be in shock.

“An idiot hit us. It’s okay, Paulinha.”

They both had minor scrapes, but Paula looked terrified.

“Sweetheart, if you want to cry, go ahead. It’s okay.”

She hugged me, sobbing.

“I thought I was going to die!” she cried.

She stayed like that until her breathing slowed and she calmed down.

“Better?” I asked.

She nodded.

The pole’s wires had fallen around us, and the pole was leaning at a dangerous angle. The transformer looked like it might fall—thankfully, not toward us.

“What are we going to do now?” Natália asked.

“We’re staying in the car and waiting for help. I already called emergency services—they’re on the way.”

“Can’t we get out?” Paulinha asked.

“No, sweetheart. The wires have electrified the ground around us. If you step out wrong, you could die. It’s safer to stay in the—oh no!”

The transformer slipped loose on one side and hung directly above us.

“Okay, girls, we need to get out.”

Natália held her breath when she saw the massive object hanging over us.

“How are we going to get out, dad?” she shouted. “I’m scared!”

“Just do exactly what I do. Both of you.”

I opened the car door and jumped out without touching any other part of the car, landing with both feet together on the ground.

“Okay, girls, your turn. Natália, you go first.”

She did exactly as I did—opened the door, avoided touching anything else, and landed with both feet together. When she tried to move, I shouted:

“No! Don’t move. Stay right there. Paula, your turn.”

Paula struggled a bit, but did the same. She jumped out and landed with both feet together. At that moment, the transformer broke loose and crushed the entire car. Paula screamed.

“Okay, stay calm. Do exactly what I do,” I said, even though I was more nervous than they were.

I shuffled my feet along the ground, one after the other, until I was about three meters away.

“Now you can come. Both of you, but don’t touch each other.”

By then, I could already hear the distant siren of the ambulance.

The girls moved carefully, sliding their feet without lifting them, until they reached me. People around us watched, unable to help. When they got close, I hugged them.

“You were very brave, girls. Very good.”

I kissed both their foreheads.

People around us applauded, and the girls started to smile despite the fear. The paramedics arrived and treated us.

We took a bus to downtown. When we got there, chaos had already taken over. There was a protest in the streets. Thousands of people carried flags and signs supporting Palestinians, along with hateful messages against Jews.

Many signs read: “Death to the Jews,” “End Zionism,” and “Kill the hostages.”

The scene was out of control.

People started hitting the bus, almost breaking the windows. A large Palestinian flag had been placed in front of the cathedral, covering the image of Jesus and his apostles.

“Dad, what’s happening?” Paula asked.

“This is what happens when people support terrorists,” I said.

We decided to get off further ahead.

We went to the dock to take a small ferry to Juazeiro. Layla was there. She wore a simple black dress, and her head covering lay torn in her lap. There was a large bruise on her face and marks on her hands.

“Layla, what happened?” I asked.

She flinched and looked at me, startled. Her blonde hair was messy.

“The pro-Palestinian protesters. They dragged me through the street, beat me, and tried to kill me. I ran here. There’s no safe place anymore. We’ll have to go back to Israel.”

I sat beside her.

“Nat, do you have the first aid kit?”

“Oh, these are your daughters? They’re beautiful!” Layla said, looking at them.

“Yes, dad,” Natália said, taking the kit from her bag.

“Nat learned first aid back at the orphanage. Looks like we have a future doctor here,” I said.

“That’s wonderful. And you?” Layla asked Paula.

“An archaeologist,” she said shyly.

The ferry arrived. We boarded, and I helped treat Layla’s injuries.

In Juazeiro, things were calmer. We walked toward the girls’ school, where someone had spray-painted “Free Palestine” on the blue wall, along with Nazi symbols.

“That’s horrible,” I said.

“As long as the war continues, this will become more and more common.”

“You have beautiful daughters,” Layla said as we got off the ferry back in Petrolina.

“Thank you. Have you ever thought about having children?”

“In our culture, girls are often asked to marry between thirteen and fourteen. After that, we study, finish school, go to college, and only then marry.”

“Wow… did you finish college?”

“Not yet. I was studying medicine in São Paulo, but after the protests started, it became too dangerous to leave home. I want to go back to studying when I return to Israel.”

The Palestinian flag was still there in front of the cathedral. The square was full of trash, torn signs, and something that looked like blood.

“Do you have a lighter?” I asked Layla.

“I do. Why?”

“Can I borrow it?”

I lit it, went up to the cathedral, and pulled the flag down. As I tore it loose, I noticed a clergyman helping me—a middle-aged man with white hair and black robes.

I held the flag up over the square and set it on fire. It burned quickly, like gasoline. The priest applauded and gave me a blessing.

“We must stand together against all this barbarity, my son,” he said.

“Yes, Father. We can’t let our city be consumed by hatred.”

“You know you’ve made powerful enemies, right?” Layla said.

“Yes. But my friends are more powerful.”

She smiled—the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.

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