GAZA BORDER COMMUNITIES

I heard them say “There is someone here with a baby, and there is someone behind him”

I saw them going house by house, trying to break in

I am 14 years old. These are not things a child my age should see

I was scared to death. I knew I was going to die

I wrote ‘Dad, I was shot. Help,’ and I sent the location of our apartment

The people at the checkpoint looked strange, I thought I could spot them holding Kalashnikov rifles

Three grenades had been thrown in, Neta yelled “grenade!” and jumped on the third one

It turned out she saw terrorists at the neighbors' back porch

They put an explosive device on the door of the safe room

We knew that as long as there were no calls or sirens, we would stay to help

We realized they want to burn us alive

The army saw me and shouted at me to identify myself

The shots made a hole in the door and through it, I saw the terrorist

I saw my father propel through the air, his hands were blown up, blood gushing

I explained to my children that they must be quiet or we would get killed

Three terrorists aimed Kalashnikovs at our heads and told us to get out

The terrorists were at our doorstep. I sat there with my son, petrified

They went from house to house. Tormenting. Butchering. Slaughtering. Looting. Torching. Kidnapping