of us inside the shop…the whole air was filled with millions and millions of flakes of shredded lavatory paper, like a blizzard; and the paint pots…remember the tins of white paint…they split open and a fountain of white paint covered half the shop.
An Arab worker led us out the back of the shop through the storage entrance, and on our way we passed all these figures moving through the aisles, and they were completely covered in white paint, completely white, like ghosts, like a Fellini movie, utterly grotesque.
I got back to the car, and then I thought, ‘I’ve left all my shopping at the checkout.’ I can’t get over how foolish I was. I went back, but instead of going back in through the storage entrance, I climbed up these steps again, and came round to the front of the shop, and I saw…(Hands over mouth.)…
Then I ran back of course. I told my daughter we still needed something for supper. We went to another supermarket, and we could hear nothing but sirens from the police cars and the ambulances, and we bought the same lot of stuff all over again, and I was shaking all the way there and all the way home, and I kept telling myself I must be brave because my daughter lives alone in Tel Aviv, and I thought I must set an example, and not appear afraid.
I heard later about the four Arab women selling herbs and fruit. A young Arab girl, the suicide bomber, went up to each of them in turn, and whispered in their ears. They got up quickly and vanished. The Jewish flower-sellers remained.
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