We are a nation in mourning, a nation united by what we’ve lost
“What happened, bubah?” asked an avreich, forty-ish, with a long black beard and his Gemara clutched at his side as he bent down to listen to her.
“Are you lost?” inquired a Sephardi savta, her face wrinkled with concern.
Between the tears, they managed to eke out her story. “You wanted the day camp on Louis Lipsky?” asked the prim and proper woman whom I’d pegged as a high school mechaneches or maybe principal. “That’s not over here, that’s Ramot Alef.”
A tall, broad, thuggish man, wearing the vest of an Egged inspector, bare arms tattooed up to his shoulders, swaggered over. “What’s going on here?” His eyes softened when he saw the girl. “What happened?”
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