Like a vicious beast with an insatiable bloodlust, he shot a bullet into her neck and then sliced her abdomen open with the welding knife, until it turned into a bloody pulp from the fury of razor-sharp ravaging teeth.
Twenty-year-old Salhiyeh Eid was nine months pregnant. When my grandmother’s 15-year-old cousin, Aisha Radwan, rushed to extricate the unborn infant from Salhiyeh’s eviscerated womb, the terrorist killed her, too. What began as a picturesque spring morning, with almond trees in full bloom and fig and apricot trees ripening, quickly turned into a merciless bloodbath. The air was thick with the cloying stench of blood flowing through the cobbled streets, while bullet-riddled bodies decomposed in the sun. The caustic odor of corpses burning in the village’s stone quarry was unbearable. These are the details narrated to me by the members of my family who experienced them. They are survivors of the Deir Yassin Massacre of 1948. ….more
