As Purim approaches, thousands of Israeli children and families grapple with poverty
On that fateful night my parents had gone to a wedding and my sister and I were home alone. Each of us was doing our own thing.
My sister went to take a shower. I really didn’t appreciate being alone. As I waited for my turn to shower, I suddenly heard voices coming from my parents’ bedroom, down the dark hallway.
I screamed to my sister, “Rochel, get out of the shower now! Someone is in the house; someone is coming to kill us!”
Frantically, she rushed out of the bathroom, grabbing me by my hair and shoving me down the stairs. We dashed out of the house into the frigid night, to the neighbor’s across the street and pounded breathlessly at their door. When they opened it we banged into their house unable to utter a word.
“What’s wrong?” our neighbor asked.
“We uh uh…hearddd…voices coming from our parents’ room… and no one is in the house.” We stuttered over our words. “We are not going back in, should we
call the police?”
“Calm down,” the neighbor said. “Stay here while we contact your parents and wait for them to come home.”
Time passed slowly; my parents finally arrived. We ran to them and explained what had happened. After hearing our story, my father bravely opened the door and slowly made his way up the stairs. As my father’s heavy footsteps creaked up the stairs, our hearts pounded in fear of what he would find. He walked to the bedroom and gently turned the knob… There was a long silent pause followed by a burst of laughter.
“Girls, you are not going to believe this,” my father said it in a chuckling voice. “The voices that you heard are from the radio.”
We looked at each other and all laughed.
Now when we are left alone at night, we make sure to check the radio, so there shouldn’t be another frightful event.
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Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/magazine/teens-twenties/the-intruder/2013/12/27/
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