I think that perhaps on my second or third shift I was with some guy, we stopped someone, again, on that foot patrol. So the soldier caught him and said: “What are you laughing at?” Again, the guy was not laughing. “You’re laughing? Really, well, no problem,” he took off his shirt and said: “Now I’m not a Border Patrolman, let’s fight.” Obviously the guy is not going to punch him back, what does he mean he’s no longer a Border Patrolman?? The fact you’ve taken off part of your uniform doesn’t make you just someone on the street, does it? He beat him to a pulp.

And the Palestinian didn’t hit back? No. The soldier lashed out whole-heartedly and the Palestinian did not hit back, only pleaded and pleaded with him to let him go. And the Borderman goes: “Come on, come on, hit me back.” I think he knew quite well, as did the Palestinian, that he wouldn’t. What could the Palestinian do? Hit a Border Patrolman? What is he, an idiot? He could get arrested for something like that, as absurd as it is, and I remember standing there and he goes, “Come on, show your stuff.” I say: leave me alone, it makes me sick. I don’t want to touch him. Let him get out of here. Again, right away I realized I wasn’t going to hold any political discussions here about my own views. (…)

And he wasn’t wearing his shirt? Right, so he picks up his rifle and starts using it to hit the guy. You don’t need a shirt to hold your gun. This was routine there. Again, after about half a year I hardly went out on patrol, most of the time I stood at outposts.