A Life in the Day of a Jew in Hiding
I awake at 6:30 to the terrifying sound of thousands of bombs going off around me and stifle the scream that always seems to rise up in my throat, begging for me to let it out. I wearily crawl out of the warm, cosy bed that has been my refuge for the past 12 hours and enter the realms of reality.
I hear the gentle pounding of feet against the floor and know that it must be almost breakfast time. My family and I always eat our breakfast at exactly 7am: it’s when the BBC radio is broadcasted. I listen to the radio with wide open ears: hoping for news of redemption; dreading the news of
I awake at 6:30 to the terrifying sound of thousands of bombs going off around me and stifle the scream that always seems to rise up in my throat, begging for me to let it out. I wearily crawl out of the warm, cosy bed that has been my refuge for the past 12 hours and enter the realms of reality.
I hear the gentle pounding of feet against the floor and know that it must be almost breakfast time. My family and I always eat our breakfast at exactly 7am: it’s when the BBC radio is broadcasted. I listen to the radio with wide open ears: hoping for news of redemption; dreading the news of