O nce I became a riding instructor Fridays became a day for long trail rides. I’d either go alone or with my friend Nili an educational consultant in a girls’ high school and a fellow riding instructor in Retorno. Over the past two years Nili and I have traversed every hill dale and dusty trail within a ten-mile radius.
One Friday we set out for Mitzpe Harel. We were somewhat unsure of our route but we had the whole day ahead of us and we were content to meander along. At high noon we crossed a narrow gully and found ourselves in a small thicket of young trees. Nili was ahead of me. She suddenly turned around covered her mouth and pointed.
My eyes followed her hand. And I froze.
Not 20 feet away there was a man hanging from a tree branch.
