Over my 6 year deployment at the border of Gaza, a job crucial to protecting our apartheid, I shot multiple Palestinian children. Now, while this was part and parcel for my regiment, I met my quota in a different way. Late at night when most of the children were asleep, I hopped down their chimneys and stuffed them in my rucksack like a Jewish Santa. Once I had about 20 children of each ethnic group in the area, I forced them to dig a massive foxhole at gunpoint. As for the children that survived the manual labor and my happy trigger finger, they were trapped into the hole with nothing but a shovel. I told them “The last one alive will be given freedom from the hole and allowed back into their home.” This would almost always end in a battle royale of Israeli children versus the Palestinian children. When the fighting got intense I called over my buddies and we all sat around the foxhole laughing and placing bets on who would win. Most of the time though we would be left with 5 kids of the same ethnic group still alive. In this case we made them fill back in the hole so we wouldn’t be caught commuting various war crimes against civilians on international television. Once those kids were done filling in the foxhole we would stuff their still living bodies into sandbags to use as shields for when their parents retaliated by spraying us with their AK-74’s. It was always fun hearing the screams of Palestinian children being killed by their own guardians.