Bloody Feet

We were walking back from a church when I saw it. A little boy was taking of his shoes, preparing to jump around in a little puddle in a large gutter. I took it all in with a quick glance and then turned my head and kept walking.

Then came a scream.

Renae and Dad were behind us, and they rushed toward the sound. I came back, seeing Dad run up to the child. Dad saw blood pouring out of a cut in his foot. The child’s frantic father rushed up and just picked up the boy, without heading to the cut. Seeing this, Dad told him he needed to put pressure on the deep cut, or else the boy would loose a lot of blood.The man was frantic and only spoke Hebrew. Dad pressed the cut closed.  “Go tell the consulate and have them call an ambulance!” Dad shouted at Nathan.

Off Nathan went, sprinting across the park, to tell the guards at the American consulate about the emergency. “Hey! We’ve got a kid with a deep cut, and we need an ambulance, they are bringing the boy here.”

Dad clinched tightly to the boys small foot, which was coated in bright red blood. He needed to stop the blood from flowing, or else the kid could pass out. After a long wait the ambulance finally arrived only to drive up the road and take another 5 minutes to turn around. Ludicrous!

Wailing, the boy was thrust into the ambulance and driven away. My family and I stood, gawking, and for the third time the security guard tried to usher us away. We quickly pointed out that the man with the bloody hands was our father. The siren of the ambulance slowly faded into the distance, and we continued our walk home.

Dad washed his hands, and I went over to the computer to write down another occurrence of our memorable days in Israel…