Haaretz, Aug 18, 2017
With great force, he knocked me to the ground, turned me over and handcuffed me. He identified himself as a policeman and started punching me in the back. Three or four other men showed up suddenly behind my brother, who was standing closer to the motorcycle. They pounced on him, handcuffed him and started hitting him. One of the men also called for reinforcements.
“You’re suspected of stealing a motorcycle,” one of the men told me as he beat me. Every time I tried to explain that I was the owner of the bike and that I was the one who had called the police, he would say, “Shut your mouth. I’ll screw you. Not a word!” As he continued to hit me, referring to me constantly as “Mohammed,” two other men began kicking me from the sidelines [....]
I asked for their personal details. Some complied. Others didn’t. I told one policeman, who was also in civilian dress, that he was a disgrace to his police uniform, meaning that he had exploited his authority as a policeman.
“Either you seem to want to eat a little more sand from the ground or you want to spend the night in jail,” he replied. “I don’t care about you or Machash.”
My brother had been wearing shorts and flip-flops. His legs were covered with blood and he had a bump on his head. Fortunately I wore jeans that day. The incident left me with red marks and bruises on my arms and neck, cuts on my legs and scratches on my head. For a long time it was hard to move my head from side to side and my back still hurts. My brother and I went straight to the hospital, where they took X-rays.