Talking to the Enemy
Before the radio had even reported the news, Nitza called me from the kibbutz to say that there had been a disaster: three terrorists had sneaked in and barricaded themselves in the children’s nursery. “They . . . they’re there right now,” she said, her voice cracking.
I swept all the papers off my desk, including the insurance form I was filling in for the new client who sat before me, his eyebrows joined in displeasure.
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