I remember when I said goodbye to all my Israeli friends back in Boston.
We were having a barbecue about a week before I made aliyah and they were arguing with each other about what was the worst part of living in Eretz Yisrael and would drive me the craziest.
“Israelis! No doubt it’s the Israelis” said my dear friend Lior.
“Israelis can be tough” affirmed Uri “but you know something Yaakov it’ll be the post office that kills you.”
