Coexisting with the “Palestinians”

45

bmoaning of the wounded and dying—and the sound of the mob, bwhich has now moved on to its next victims.

bOne of the survivors, Y. L. Grodzinski, tells how he was bsaved: “As I ran into one of the rooms, I saw my mother stand- bing at a window and crying, ‘Help us!’ A crowd of jeering, blaughing Arabs stood and threw rocks at her. I seized her and bpushed her behind a bookshelf that stood in the corner of the broom. I then placed a young girl and a boy of twelve there. Final- bly I and another yeshiva student pushed ourselves into the nar- brow space. We could hardly breathe but lay there terrified as the bArabs burst into the room. The cries of the Jews who were being bmurdered were terrible. Every moment we expected the Arabs bto find us and kill us, too. It was a miracle of G-d that, somehow, bthey did not. After an interminable time they left, and the only bsounds we heard were those of the wounded and dying.

b“I lifted myself up and tried to get out. It was very difficult bbecause the shelves were very heavy and bodies blocked it. bWhen I finally crawled out, my head swam and eyes darkened bat the horrible sight. At my feet lay Eliezer Don Slonim, his wife, band young child, Aharon. They wallowed in their own blood. bNext to them lay the bodies of Slonim’s father-in-law, Rabbi bOrlinski, and his wife. The rabbi lay in his talis [“prayer bshawl”] and I thought how just a little while earlier I had heard bhim blessing us with the priestly blessing, ‘and may He give you bpeace.’ Now he, his wife, his daughter, son-in-law, and grand- bchild lay in a final peace.

b“There were scores of other bodies, some dead, some bwounded. The dead all had their skulls shattered and their in- btestines ripped out. The same picture was in the other rooms. bThere I saw my brother. I rushed to him. His head had been bstruck brutal blows with an ax. I threw water on him and he brevived, but died of his wounds some hours later.

b“Eliezer Dovnikov, the principal of the Tel Nordau school, bin Tel Aviv, lay dead but there were no marks on his body. He bhad been strangled, his body lying next to that of his wife. The broom was a scene of horror, and the vision of Bialik’s Ir bHaHareiga [City of slaughter; concerning the Kishinev pogrom] bstood as a living ghost before me in all its horror.

b“I went to the window and saw policemen passing. I called bto them, asking them to send medical aid. Just at that moment, b