There's been another attack against pedestrians. Once again, a Palestinian decided he could best serve his god by ramming a pickup truck into innocent people who were waiting for the light rail. The terrorist, Ibrahim Al-Acri was shot and killed by police on the scene. He was known to the police as a Hamas activist and lived in Shuafat - the neighborhood through which the light rail was stupidly built - making it a regular location for rock attacks.
Elie called me first, "did you hear the news?"
My insides filled with dread as he began telling me; I browsed to a website to learn more. The numbers climb even as I type. Three critically wounded. One in "matsav anush" - a terrible term that roughly translates as mortally wounded. It is, in most cases, a death sentence. The man who was in matsav anush died shortly later. Fourteen have been wounded, three still critical.
Aliza called a short time later. "Did you hear what happened?" I told her what I knew. She has a friend in school, a young girl who is visiting from Australia. Her friend had a friend there.
"Is she okay?" I asked.
"She wasn't hurt, but she saw the whole thing." And apparently called Aliza's friend and told her everything. The truck came and the girl saw three people hit very badly. Then she saw the terrorist get out of the car with something metal in his hand. "He was going to start hitting people," she said.
"Did she see him get shot?" I asked her.
"I don't know." And then her voice cracked and she said, "It's not fair, another time again."
"Where is her friend now?" I asked - my mind fills with the image of a 15 year old girl walking alone, shaken, slightly in shock.
"She was walking to Ammunition Hill," Aliza answered. I can only hope someone will see her and ask her if she is okay; if she needs help. I hope she has called her parents - I hope they've rushed to her side.
"I'm shaking" Aliza said, pulling my thoughts back to her and then she started to cry a little. It's not fair. She's right. Another time, again.