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A Place Called Home
Hot air blasted across my face as the glass doors slid open to the evening bustle of Tel Aviv. Families rushed in and out of the busy airport terminal and the holy language of the Jews was being shouted across the row of parked taxi cabs. My Jewish escort walked me across the crowded street and introduced me to my next point of contact, the driver. He was a lean man with a dark set of short curls on his head. He greeted me with a polite nod and opened the rear door of his bla
Sep 17, 20233 min read
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