A Story From My Childhood

Here is a story that happened in 82:
A few weeks before the IDF entered Beirut, my grand father’s (mother’s side) house was attacked by a Palestinian gang. We never knew who spread the word about my grand mother, but somehow they knew she was Jewish.
We used to live in the building facing theirs.
I can never forget the screaming, both of my grand father and from the attackers.
They were shooting at the apartment from everywhere: the main door, from the street on the living room side and the street from the kitchen side.
If it hadn’t been for a well connected neighbor, my grand parents would have been dead.
Then a few weeks later Israeli soldiers were walking those same streets. I never really asked how they got to my grand mother, but they did and she told them what happened…
They gathered all the men of the neighborhood, made them stand in line and asked my grand father to identify the attackers. (because when the neighbor interfered, my grand father had the occasion to see their faces, and they were actually adolescent/young men, most of them the neighborhood kids)
I was too young to understand the situation, but I remember my mother explaining to me that the bad guys are being caught. Those soldiers were my heroes.
My grand mother didn’t want anything bad to happen to the “kids”, and forgave them. Maybe she was thinking that from there on she was going to be safe.
She still lives in that same apartment.