I was walking through the shuk last Friday. I had to go to the Post Office at Jaffe Gate. The shuk is the arab market street that runs through the middle of the Old City. It was early in the morning and it was empty except for the many policemen and women standing on every corner protecting us from the murdering arab terrorists.
There was a young arab boy with a large wooden tray with fresh bread on his head in front of me. He couldn't have been more than 12 or 13-years old. He was delivering the bread to Jaffe Gate. He was having trouble balancing the board and was trying to put it down. A few loaves fell to the ground as he tried to squat low enough to kneel so he could slide the large board off his head. I knew he needed help…but I also remembered the arab boy his age who just stabbed a Jewish boy trying to kill him.
I stopped and watched him for a second and two thoughts ran through my mind at the same time. "Should I help an arab boy who most likely wants to kill me," and "How do I know if he's that kind of kid?"
I yelled at the boy, "Do you want to put it down?" He didn't answer.
I reached out and grabbed one end of the board with both my hands and helped him lower it off his head. His face was full of sweat from his struggle. He looked at me but he didn't smile. He didn't say thank you.
I walked on to the Post Office. It's enough to have hatred for the ones I know are doing it… I don't need extra hatred in my head.