In June 1974, I was staying with my Aunt and Uncle during my summer vacation. They lived in northern Israel, in the sleepy little town of Naharya. At the age of 16, it was the farthest away from home that I could go. On the fifth night of my visit, at around 2:00 ., we were violently awakened by a barrage of bullets and the deafening blasts of hand grenades. We were all terribly frightened and felt totally helpless. The onslaught lasted for about 30 minutes, and then suddenly everything fell ominously silent. At dawn, we learned how fortunate we had been: The attack on the.
