You demolish your home. With your own hands, you bulldoze a life’s project. All your memories and all the fruits of your labor and your savings are smashed to smithereens, become heaps of rubble, mounds of ruins. You demolish your home. You get up in the morning, hire a bulldozer and level the house you’ve lived in for years.
You lay waste to the living room and destroy the bedroom, you smash the kitchen, devastate the terrace, bury the children’s room. Then you turn to the adjacent house of your daughter, your son-in-law and your grandchildren, and you demolish it, too, with your own hands. You ravage your past and your children’s future.
They are homeless in the bitter chill of the Jerusalem winter.