The following is adapted from IDF soldier, Liran Ron Furer, Checkpoint Syndrome
I ran toward them and punched an Arab right in the face
I’d never punched anyone that way
He collapsed on the road
The officers said that we had to search him for his papers
We pulled his hands behind his back and I bound them with plastic handcuffs
Then we blindfolded him so he wouldn’t see what was in the Jeep
I picked him up from the road
Blood was trickling from his lip onto his chin
I led him up behind the Jeep and threw him in
His knees banged against the trunk and he landed inside
We sat in the back, stepping on the Arab
Our Arab lay there pretty quietly
Just crying softly to himself
His face was right on my flak jacket
And he was bleeding
And making a kind of puddle of blood and saliva
And it disgusted and angered me
So I grabbed him by the hair
And turned his head to the side
He cried out loud and to get him to stop
We stepped harder and harder on his back
That quieted him down for a while
And then he started up again
We concluded that he was either retarded or crazy
