“What’d he say?” I asked the young Jewish boy to my right. “They are going to shoot it,” he replied in his classroom English. Brushing the traditional curls out of his face, he reemphasized, “The robot will shoot the bomb.” Standing on an elevated portion of a building, Raf, Dan, and I lean against the wall, taking in the scene below us. The Israeli police have established a 50 meter perimeter around a bicycle chained to a street sign. An innocuous looking backpack hung on the rear of the bicycle. Every move cautious and calculated, a bomb disposal robot inches closer to the backpack while a somber policeman focuses on a television display, his hands resting on an array of joysticks on the side of the bomb disposal truck. A crackle of Hebrew on a megaphone,
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