His is the story of the Jews who never had a chance
Sitting in the shade of the old children’s home, a bucket hat crowning his sun-scorched face, he was the picture of pastoral calm.
A pensioned kibbutznik alone with his memories, watching the comings and goings with a nod for each passerby.
“Shleyma,” his Polish-born parents had called him, and his is the story of the Jews who never had a chance.
It was a Friday morning when my wife and I found ourselves in the well-kept grounds of Kfar Menachem, a few kilometers east of Kiryat Malachi in southern Israel.
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