“My son is autistic.” I heard the defensiveness in my voice, but also the plea. “Please don’t do anything, or say anything until I get there”
“Geveret Leibenson? I’m calling from the Israeli police. Your son—”
“Is Chezky okay?” I cut him off. “Where is he?” Was I running to the local precinct? What had Chezky done this time?
“I’m here on Rashi street. Your son apparently has been shoplifting many times from the local makolet located on this street. I need you to come down here immediately.”
“My son is autistic.” I heard the defensiveness in my voice, but also the plea. “Please don’t do anything, or say anything until I get there.”
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