It was a lazy Sunday morning at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and not much was going on. No classes were scheduled, and very few students went to church.
Students who opted for one of the block meal plans often took the opportunity to save a meal ticket and have Sunday brunch on their own. Indeed, many of the dorms had communal kitchens for students who wished to cook their own meals. Late Sunday morning was a great time for students to get together and make a brunch for their floor.
Neither Francis ‘Freck’ San Angelo nor Kyle Goldstein had any interest in cooking and so rarely took part. The two teens shared a dorm room together in Maseeh Hall. Although only sixteen and fourteen years of age, as upperclassmen, they were entitled to their pick of university housing.
There were dormitory buildings that were smaller and quieter, but Maseeh appealed to the boys for a number of reasons. For one thing, it was a century-old building that had been gutted and completely modernized inside.
As a budding architect, Freck loved seeing old, historic buildings repurposed and modernized. The room they shared was on the top floor in one of the turrets. It was spacious, had an en-suite bathroom, and with windows all around, it gave them a 270-degree view.
Another advantage of Maseeh Hall was its location near the campus center. That meant that most of their classes were walkable. It was near the athletic facilities, and with Freck’s love of swimming, he and Kyle took advantage of the aquatic offerings on a daily basis.
This Sunday morning was no exception, and so they went for a swim before they even considered going to the nearby Stratton Student Center to grab something to eat. Although Maseeh had its own food service with a large variety of options, it was nice to be able to get together with students from all over the campus at Stratton.
It was there that they heard a rumor about an overnight incident of vandalism at the campus Hillel, which was directly across the street from Maseeh Hall. It was where Freck and Kyle spent most of their Friday evenings and Saturday mornings.
Ever since they began preparing for their double bar mitzvah, they’d attended the Friday evening Shabbat services, run by a group of conservative students, followed by a traditional Shabbat dinner. Every Saturday morning, they participated in Shabbat services run by a group of orthodox students, followed by a kosher brunch.
Freck and Kyle had made many friends through the Hillel and continued attending services, even though neither one was particularly religious. Indeed, now that they’d completed their bar mitzvahs, they often participated in running the services.
MIT was a renowned institution that was often considered among the Ivy League schools, even though technically, it was not one of the original Ivies. It was certainly in the same league as Stanford University and Caltech. Homophobia was never an issue on campus and students of all variations of gender and sexual orientation were accepted equally.
That level of acceptance, however, didn’t always extend to religious minorities and Jews in particular were seen by some as having gotten where they were through privilege. Never mind that success had been earned through years of hard work. Never mind that it came after centuries of struggle against ruthless persecution, nor that antisemitism didn’t end with the Holocaust.
As members of the campus Hillel, the boys had ample opportunity to discuss their personal experiences with antisemitism. Moreover, antisemitic incidents, as documented by the Anti-Defamation League, were on the rise on college campuses across the nation.
Many students — and professors — tended to equate Judaism with Zionism and the Jewish students were treated as if they themselves were guilty of oppressing Palestinians in the Middle East. Even so, it came as a shock to Freck and Kyle when they heard the rumor of antisemitic vandalism against the Hillel.
Heading over there after brunch, they were stunned to see that the sukkah they’d helped build for the observance of Sukkot had been completely destroyed. Working with other students who’d likewise come to see the destruction for themselves, they stayed and spent the entire day helping to rebuild it.
Having grown up in the Riverdale section of the Bronx, which was heavily Jewish, Kyle hadn’t been exposed to much antisemitism before. New York City had the second largest Jewish population in the world, after Tel Aviv. There were occasional incidents against the Hasidic and ultra-Orthodox communities in Brooklyn, but nothing that had touched Kyle personally.
Freck had been raised as a Roman Catholic and had not discovered his Jewish origins until he was nearly a teenager. For him as well, seeing such senseless hatred was completely new. It left him to wonder how anyone smart enough to attend such an elite university could perpetrate such hatred and violence against their fellow students. Kyle, of course, was wondering the same thing.
Although the boys had certainly had their close calls before, they’d never felt unsafe. There was the time Freck attempted to take a flying leap off the Battery Park Garage when he was so high on pot that he thought he could fly. Then there was the time he and Kyle had a blowup in Paris and Freck lived on the street for a short time.
When the pandemic was raging, Freck’s own father died from Covid-19. Worst of all, Kyle suffered a traumatic brain injury at the hands of the police during a Black Lives Matter protest. It took him more than a year to recover fully, yet he considered it a consequence of his right of free speech. The officer involved was overreacting to a threatening situation and they could understand that.
No, this was different. They and the other members of the Hillel were the victims of targeted property damage. Just as with the Jews in Nazi Germany, they knew that vandalism borne of hate often leads to physical violence. For the first time in their lives, Freck and Kyle felt unsafe because they were at the mercy of something they couldn’t understand – something that was completely beyond their control.
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Ahmad Assad had a different perspective when it came to religious hatred. Even though Southern California was highly diverse, his darker skin shade and Semitic features made his Arab heritage immediately apparent. Although the terrorist attack of 9/11 happened before he was born, most Americans held negative views toward anyone who observed the Muslim faith.
Even the undocumented immigrants of Latin or Asian heritage, of which there were many in Southern California, looked down on him. That he was at the top of his class in elementary and middle school hadn’t helped much either. Ahmad grew up knowing what it was like to be hated for what he was, rather than who he was.
That feeling was so ingrained that it nearly defined him. He became passive and reserved as a defense against the hatred. Rather than defending himself, he’d learned to withdraw; slurs made against him went unchallenged. Fortunately, he’d never been subjected to physical bullying and had never been in a fight.
The few friends he had, in many ways, were similar to him. His best friend, Randy, was Jewish, but neither child even remotely considered a friendship between an Arab and a Jew to be the least bit strange. Both boys were reserved, reclusive and exceptionally smart.
They both liked to read and often shared books with each other and discussed them. Toward the end of fifth grade, certain changes began to occur with their bodies and their talk naturally turned to sex. Randy developed a fascination with the opposite sex that Ahmad didn’t understand. The implications of that terrified him.
Then, suddenly, his life was turned upside down. He’d grown up in a comfortable middle-class home and never questioned that it would change. His father was an assistant professor in a tenure track position at UCLA, and his mother taught at Santa Monica College.
He lived with his parents, a brother, and two sisters in a condo right by the ocean in Marina Del Ray. Even though some looked down on him for his appearance, he could go anywhere and do anything without worrying that his life might be in danger.
He’d never forget the night his parents sat down with their children and announced they’d been offered jobs in Palestine. Ahmad knew he was a Palestinian American, but he’d never even been to Palestine. He was an American citizen by birth. More than that, he was an American at his core. The move to the Third World wasn’t something he could even comprehend.
Completely unknown to Ahmad was what his parents had to go through to repatriate themselves and their children to the occupied West Bank. When they’d left their homeland, it was before the first Intifada. It was before the Oslo Accords and before the Palestinian National Authority even existed. It was before they had any children!
They’d come to the U.S. on F-1 student visas with Israeli passports that were now no longer valid. After finishing their studies, they stayed in the U.S. on H-1B visas and eventually became naturalized American citizens. The children were all born in America and were U.S. citizens. Before the family could return to Palestine, they needed Palestinian passports and immigrant visas, issued by the PNA. It took them more than a year to obtain all of the technical documents required for repatriation.
Ahmad was shocked to see what they had to go through to get to Nablus. As American citizens, they could have flown directly to Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv. It was by far the closest airport to Nablus. However, repatriation required them to travel with their Palestinian passports and visas, which weren’t valid for entry into Israel. Instead, they flew to Queen Alia International Airport, south of Amman, in Jordan.
Because it would be difficult to obtain cars in Nablus, they purchased cars from an exporter in Germany and had them shipped to Jordan via the Suez Canal. After filing what to Ahmad was an unbelievable amount of paperwork, they picked up their cars and drove to the Damia Bridge, which crossed the Jordan River.
That was where they encountered their first Israeli checkpoint. They had valid passports and visas. They had international drivers’ licenses and full documentation of ownership and insurance for their cars.
Even so, it took more than four hours to be cleared to continue into the West Bank. The drive to Nablus shouldn’t have taken more than an hour, but they had to pass through a number of checkpoints along the way, each of which involved a substantial delay.
When they finally arrived in Nablus, they were met by relatives Ahmad never even knew he had. He had grandparents! Four of them! And there were enough cousins to populate a small town. It was a true revelation to learn that he came from such a large family.
In the coming weeks, Ahmad settled into his new life, although it seemed foreign to him. The family lived in a large flat in a modern high-rise building. The view, however, was one of rolling hills, endless desert and low-rise buildings. Whereas the metropolitan statistical area of L.A. had a population of more than twelve million, Nablus proper had a metro population of not even a half-million souls.
From his bedroom window, Ahmad could see a pair of Israeli settlements with their prominently-displayed Israeli flags. Coupled with the numerous checkpoints and the strong military presence, it made for a very claustrophobic feeling — a siege mentality that was pervasive and oppressive. That Nablus had long been a hotbed of protest and resistance added to the feeling that the whole city was a tinderbox that could go up in flames at any moment.
Ahmad was enrolled not in a middle school but in a private all-male high school. Founded during the time of British rule, it mostly served the children of professors who taught at the university. He had been in the eighth grade and based on his exam scores, was placed in the equivalent of ninth grade, even though he was not yet thirteen. The classes were in English, which was fortunate. Not only didn’t Ahmad know much Arabic but in America, his parents used Arabic when they didn’t want their children to understand what they were saying.
There were extracurricular religion classes, however, and those were entirely in Arabic. Those classes were a struggle and not just because of the language barrier. Ahmad had been raised without religion and was a Muslim in heritage only.
It didn’t take him long to realize that he would have to become proficient in the ways of Islam if he were ever to fit into Palestinian society. His parents certainly made that clear, and attending prayer services at a nearby mosque became part of Ahmad’s morning and evening routines.
Thankfully, he made two new friends: Ahsan and Hussein, who helped Ahmad through his struggles. The three boys became the closest of friends. They also helped each other deal with the sexual tensions of puberty in a society that prohibited mixing of the sexes.
Clearly they all enjoyed their sexual explorations with each other. That Ahmad had no interest in girls was a secret he held close to his chest. Over time, Ahmad came to appreciate the differences between Islam and other religions and although he was exposed to radical Islam, he never was tempted by it or by the concept of Jihad.
Still, he couldn’t help but see the occupation as oppressive. It defined all aspects of life in the West Bank. There was an intense resentment of Israelis by nearly all Palestinians.
Ahmad grew up with Jewish classmates in America and his best friend had been a Jew. Nevertheless, the boundaries between Jews and Israelis began to blur in his mind. It was easy to forget that the American Jewish classmates he knew spoke openly in favor of an end to the occupation and a two-state solution.
He couldn’t excuse the fact that the U.S. gave more military aid to Israel than to any other country. The four years he spent in Nablus dramatically changed the way he felt about Americans and the Jewish people.
He was still sixteen when he moved to New York to begin his studies at Columbia. He joined a local mosque and became active in campus organizations that supported Palestinian rights. Once again, there were many Jews among his classmates, but none was among his closest friends. It was all too easy to forget that the Jewish students weren’t complicit in the Israeli occupation.
The one complication was that he was gay, and although all of his classmates knew, no one at the mosque where he prayed could know. If anyone there found out, his parents would find out, and there’d be repercussions.
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Larry was beside himself with excitement. In just three days, he’d be traveling to Israel for the first time on his own. Actually, he’d be accompanying a music professor, but it would be the first time he’d be going without his parents.
It turned out that the colleague for whom his teacher had approached him was not a fellow teacher at LaGuardia, but rather a professor at the Juilliard School of Music. The trip was more than an opportunity to participate in a music program and a festival. It was a potential inside track to a slot for admission to Juilliard, perhaps as early as next year.
Larry met with Dr. Eileen Silver on Sunday. They went over the music program and what would be involved. They’d be staying at Kibbutz Be’eri, which was a small farming community of just over a thousand people. Located in the Negev Desert, it was near the border with Gaza.
Although the kibbutz was secular, the holiday of Sukkot held special meaning to the community. Be’eri was one of the oldest kibbutzim. Established before Israel was born, its founders literally carved an oasis out of the desert. Taking advantage of natural waterways and tributaries, they augmented those with reservoirs to catch and store rain water.
Larry and Dr. Silver would be flying out of Newark on Wednesday afternoon. They’d be on an El Al flight, nonstop to Ben Gurion Airport. Their seats were in premium economy. Although that was a far cry from business class, it gave them enough leg room to have a chance of getting some sleep. They’d need it. There’d be little chance for sleep once they arrived. If there were no flight delays, they’d land in Israel in the early afternoon.
After passing through Immigration and Customs, they’d be met by a representative of the kibbutz who’d drive them there. They’d be given a brief tour of the facilities and meet with the music director to go over the planned program.
Later, members from throughout the kibbutz would hold a banquet in their honor. That would be followed by a play written, directed and performed by the children.
Larry was warned that bedtime came early at the kibbutz. Morning there began quite literally with the chickens. Thanks to the seven-hour time difference, he’d be getting up in the morning about when he’d have been going to bed back in New York.
After breakfast, Larry and Dr. Silver would finally have a chance to practice the musical program with the kibbutz band. Practice would continue through the rest of the day with a brief break for lunch.
The remaining details were sketchy at best. Larry knew there’d be a Shabbat service in the afternoon or early evening followed undoubtedly by a Shabbat dinner and a musical program for Shimini Atzeret. He and Dr. Silver would play a major role in that. Then they’d leave the kibbutz, just after 10:00 PM, and drive to a remote location for something called the SuperNova Music Festival.
Dr. Silver promised she’d sneak Larry into the festival, even though he was underage (since alcohol and other mind-altering substances would appear for sure), but he’d be far too busy for any of that. The festival was supposed to last all night and into Saturday morning, and then he was supposed to participate in a music program back at the kibbutz for Simchat Torah.
Apparently, sleep was going to be optional at best. Just when he’d have a chance to get together with Robin was anyone’s guess. It would be a shame for the two of them to travel halfway around the world, only to return to New York without seeing each other.
Perhaps an even bigger issue was the current turmoil in Israel. The prime minister and his government were attempting to institute what they called ‘judicial reform.’ Larry didn’t understand it, but the word on the street was that the right-wing government wanted to circumvent the normal checks and balances meant to prevent them from seizing power.
Daily protests in all the major cities suggested a threat of a general strike. At least he’d be spending his time in a remote part of Israel, far away from any of that action. He’d be perfectly safe there.
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The wait seemed interminable to Robin as she, her father and her sisters moved through the endless line for departures. Kiosks weren’t available for their flight. They were waiting to check in at the Austrian Airlines ticket counter in Terminal B.
They’d taken a limo from their apartment on the Lower East Side to Newark Liberty International Airport early that afternoon. Traffic was light and the trip to the airport only took a half-hour. The trip to Israel was not only her first opportunity to travel abroad, but it was to be her first time ever on an airplane.
Robin was only four years old when her mother died. Even at that age, she could tell it was as if her father’s soul had died, too. So much of what other kids took for granted, Robin never got to experience while growing up.
Other than going to summer camp, she’d never traveled far beyond New York City. She’d learned to navigate the subways and buses from a very early age and had visited all of the museums on her own. Family vacations were something other kids did. She always wondered why only they got to travel.
Of course her father had flown before. There were conferences that he needed to attend in order to remain at the top of his field in Russian Literature. Her oldest sister, Sarah, once flew with the school debate team to Saint Louis for the national championship.
Her other sister, Stacey, had flown to a number of comic book conventions, often as a featured speaker with all of her expenses paid. She’d been doing that since she was sixteen. Beside herself, only her brother, Josh, had never flown, and he was staying home.
Finally they reached the head of the line and stepped up to the ticket agent. Her father handed the agent their four passports. The agent pulled up their e-tickets and proceeded to check them in.
“For the trip to Vienna, I have three seats together in the center section, toward the back of the plane, with the fourth seat across the aisle in the same row,” the agent said in heavily-accented English. She didn’t even look up. “I don’t have four seats together for the flight to Tel Aviv. I can give you an aisle and a middle in one row, and a middle and a window in a row nearby.”
“Please give the window seat to my youngest daughter, Robin,” Professor Arens responded. “It’s her first time flying. She should have the benefit of seeing Israel from the air as we land.”
The agent didn’t even acknowledge the response, merely typing away on her terminal and printing boarding passes and luggage tags. Because there was a charge for each item of checked luggage, they’d brought only two large suitcases. Packed to capacity, they weighed in at barely less than the allowed maximum.
With boarding passes in hand and the luggage safely checked, they proceeded directly to security. There hadn’t been sufficient advance notice for them to enroll in Global Entry or Pre-Check. Therefore, they’d arrived early enough to contend with the long lines Robin had heard about.
After showing their passports and boarding passes, they were relegated to one of multiple long lines to await screening. It took more than an hour for Robin and her family to reach the head of the line, where they again had to show their passports and boarding passes.
As luck would have it, they were randomly selected for additional screening. They were taken aside and their belongings were hand-searched. A machine checked for vapors emitted by explosive devices. Even then, they still had to go through metal detectors and send their backpacks and shoes through the x-ray machine.
Finally, they emerged from security and found themselves in a mammoth duty-free shopping arcade. It was like one giant shopping mall. Display after display showed seemingly random collections of items they didn’t want or need at prices they couldn’t afford. Not that Duty Free did them much good in New Jersey when they were leaving the U.S.; what was the point?
Robin couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would lug bottles of liquor, perfume or chocolate on an airplane in the first place. Why deal with the hassle of getting them through customs, only to find they could’ve bought them for less money back home?
Obviously, there was a market for Duty Free shopping — otherwise it wouldn’t be given so much space in the airport. As always, if there was a buck to be made, someone was going to make it. Finally, they broke free of the Duty Free shops and entered the departure gate area itself.
“You know, it’s going to be a while before they get around to feeding us on the airplane. Even then, the food won’t be all that good,” Robin’s father began. “Let’s grab a bite now, while we have the time, okay?” When wouldn’t two teens and a twenty-year-old want to eat?
Robin couldn’t believe how much more expensive everything was in the airport food court compared to restaurants near where they lived. She opted for a slice of pizza from Artichoke Pizza. It was significantly better than McDonalds or Panda Express.
As the four of them ate, a boarding announcement for their flight was made, much to their surprise. Time had slipped away from them, as it was already the time that was listed for boarding on their boarding passes.
Quickly scarfing down their meals, they made their way to the gate as quickly as their legs and the moving walkways would take them. It was much farther than they expected, but the flight was still boarding when they got there.
It didn’t take long to realize they were still boarding first and business class. With what seemed to be hundreds of people milling around the departure lounge, it was no wonder they started the boarding process an hour before the scheduled departure time.
Even though their seats were toward the back of the plane, they were in economy lite, so they were in the last group to board. When their section was finally called, the four of them once again had to show their passports and boarding passes. The gate agent scanned them before allowing them through.
They walked down a very long jetway and finally boarded the airplane. Robin was stunned when she passed through the door and saw how large the airplane was. She should’ve realized it had to be huge to accommodate so many passengers, but the reality didn’t set in until she saw that there were two aisles rather than just one.
With two seats on each side and three in the middle of each row, it finally made sense to her why the ticket agent had mentioned seating in the center section. Little did she know that the Boeing 767 aircraft was actually the smallest in the long haul fleet. The 777 that typically flew out of JFK had three seats on each side and four in the middle.
The flight attendant directed them to cross over and go down the aisle on the starboard side of the airplane. It seemed to take forever to reach their row, as there were so many rows ahead of theirs. They constantly had to wait as passengers suddenly got up to place or retrieve luggage from the overhead storage bins.
When they finally reached their row, there was barely enough room in the overhead bins for two of their backpacks, much less four. Then Robin had the idea to check the other side and sure enough, there was enough room for both of the other backpacks on that side.
Even after they settled into their seats and fastened their seat belts, it seemed to take forever as the flight attendants checked to make sure all the overhead bins were secure and that everyone had their seat belt fastened. Finally, Robin felt the plane push away from the gate and begin taxiing to the runway. There was a tiny video screen built into the back of the seat in front of her. However, very few of the passengers around her paid any attention as the security video began to play.
It was all new to Robin though, so she dutifully pulled out the information card from the seat back in front of her and identified the nearest emergency exits, which were at the very back of the plane.
She laughed when the video showed a mother calmly placing an oxygen mask on the face of the child next to her after donning her own. She made it look as if wearing an emergency oxygen mask was the most natural thing in the world. After the video finished, it played a second time in German.
Slowly, the plane inched forward as Robin realized they were in yet another long queue — this time a line of airplanes waiting their turn for departure. The plane seemed to make a sharp turn and then came to a complete stop.
Suddenly the engines roared to life and the airplane accelerated down the runway. Robin was pushed back into her seat as the plane gained what seemed to be an impossible speed. It was only when the intense vibrations ceased that Robin realized the wheels were no longer on the ground.
She wasn’t near a window, and yet she could feel the plane climbing upward and sliding in motions she’d never before experienced in her life. There were some loud, clanking noises she felt more than heard. At first, she wondered if they were normal, but everyone else on the plane seemed unconcerned. The scientist in her realized the sounds probably came from the landing gear being retracted.
Noticing that her sister Stacey was unwrapping a set of headphones from the seat back in front of her, Robin found that she too had a pair in the seat pocket. She proceeded to place them on her head and to plug them into a jack on the armrest as she saw her sister had done. Following her sister’s lead, she brought up a menu on the video screen.
Although there was a variety of movies, TV programs and musical programs available for her to watch, not much seem to be of interest and most of the movies were pretty old. Then she noticed that Oppenheimer was available, and she had yet to see it. She didn’t expect to get much sleep on the more than eight-hour flight.
With plenty of time to spare, she settled in to watch the three-hour movie. It helped to pass the time, although the interruptions for flight announcements, beverages and dinner were more than annoying.
It was a good thing that they’d eaten before boarding, as dinner wasn’t served until it was nearly midnight on the east coast. The grilled chicken with macaroni and cheese that Robin selected made her school lunches look good. Frankly, the rigatoni with kale pesto cream sauce that Stacey had didn’t look any more appetizing. At least the carrot cake was good.
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Robin woke with a start as the lights came on and the airplane cabin came to life around her. Somehow, she’d managed to get some sleep after all.
A quick glance at her phone told her it was just after 5:00 AM back in New York, which meant that they were about seven hours into their flight and would be landing in an hour and a half.
Clearing the cobwebs from her brain, she realized she must have fallen asleep just after finishing the movie. She’d probably gotten about three hours of sleep, but at least three hours was better than nothing.
Realizing her bladder was full and seeing the beverage cart making its way down the aisle, she made a beeline for the lavatories, only to find she wasn’t the only one with the same idea. Using the lavatory for the first time was an experience in itself.
She got back to her seat just as the beverage cart arrived at her row. She requested black coffee but her sister, Stacey, interrupted, “No, that’s not what she wants. She’ll have a can of unsweetened ice tea, and I’ll have the same.”
In a whisper, Stacey explained to Robin, “Trust me, you don’t want to drink the coffee, and definitely not black. Few things are more vile than airplane coffee, and you never know what’s in the water they use to make it.”
“The voice of experience. Thanks, Sis,” Robin replied. “They’ll probably have better coffee in the airport.”
The food cart was directly behind the beverage cart and passengers were all handed a box containing a plain bagel with cream cheese along with a fruit cup, neither of which was tasty. There was barely enough time to eat the meal when the flight attendants began their preparations for landing.
Robin wasn’t sure what to expect but the landing was so smooth that she didn’t even realize the wheels were on the ground until the plane started taxiing to the gate. She assumed they’d need to go through passport control, customs and security when changing planes.
Because they were booked through to their destination on a single ticket, changing planes in Vienna was no different than changing planes in any airport in the United States — provided they remained within the international transit lounge.
That said, the security requirements for entering Israel where much more stringent than for general international travel. It was fortunate that Avrahm insisted on proceeding directly to the gate, rather than stopping for coffee as Robin had wanted.
When they arrived at the gate, they found a long line just to enter the departure lounge. Each passenger underwent a secondary screening in which they were asked a series of questions and then scanned in a device that could detect hidden explosives.
Boarding the airplane took considerably less time than in Newark, as the plane was a much smaller Airbus A321-111. The flight itself took less than two hours, but then passing through passport control, customs and immigration took considerably longer.
By the time they exited into the arrivals area, it was almost time for dinner, and they were starved. There was no meal served on the flight to Tel Aviv and there hadn’t been time to grab a bite in Vienna, so the last thing they’d eaten was the bagel and fruit cup they were served on the first flight.
Dinner would have to wait, however, as they were being met by their tour guide, a graduate student at the Weizmann Institute of Science. Thanks to his position as a professor of Russian Literature, Avrahm was able to make use of his contacts to arrange for a private guide and an apartment for the week.
Not only was the cost competitive, but they’d have a much more personal tour than was possible in a large group. The apartment was near the Institute, in Rehovot, which was centrally located. Most tourist sites were within an hour’s drive by car.
Scanning the Arrivals area, they spotted a young man holding up a sign with the name ‘Arens’ on it and headed straight for him. “Professor Arens?” the young man shouted above the din as they approached.
“Calling me that for the better part of the week would be absurd. Please, just call me ‘Avrahm’. And you must be Michael?” Avrahm replied, using the Hebrew pronunciation Mi-cha-el’, with a guttural ‘ch’ and the accent on the last syllable.
“Please, call me ‘Mike’,” the young man answered in flawless English.
“These are my daughters, Sarah, Stacey and Robin,” Avrahm added.
Looking at Stacey, who was sporting bright yellow hair with just the tips died purple, Mike exclaimed, “Wow! I don’t think I’ve ever seen that color of hair before.”
“I try to ignore her hair color and the way she dresses, but this particular style makes that difficult.” Avrahm acknowledged.
Then with a sigh, he added, “But what do I know? Between her blog and her graphic novels, she makes more money than I do.”
“Do you guys have everything?” Mike asked as he noted the two large spinners they had with them.
Seeing their heads nod, he continued, “Let’s get you situated by the curb, and I’ll go get my car, and then we can go get something to eat. You guys must be starved!”
“More than starved,” Robin exclaimed as they all nodded .
“Oh, and could you give me your mobile phone numbers, in case I need to contact you?” Mike asked.
“That reminds me, we need to switch to our international eSIM cards,” Robin noted. “Those’ll give us different phone numbers from the ones we have back home.”
Handing each of them a card with his name and number, Mike suggested, “Why don’t you do that while I get my car and then send me your new phone numbers? That way, we’ll all have each other’s numbers.”
As Mike headed to short term parking, Avrahm retrieved the eSIM card instructions from his carryon luggage and handed each daughter one of the instruction cards. The three daughters made quick work of activating the eSIM cards on their phones. It took Avrahm a bit longer.
The first thing Robin did after sending a text to Mike was to text Larry to let him know her number and that she’d arrived safely.
Given the seven-hour time difference, she realized that Larry would be at lunch right then. Sure enough, mere seconds later, Larry texted, ‘Got it. I’ll be there in just three days. Luv ya. Have fun!”
Robin had a smile on her face as Mike drove up in his dad’s Kia SUV.
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Larry, too, had a smile on his face as he exited the cafeteria. Robin had arrived safely in Israel. Soon, he’d be there too. It still wasn’t clear when they’d have a chance to get together. Just knowing they’d be near each other made all the difference in the world.
He’d gotten an email from Professor Silver that morning, with more details of their upcoming trip. They’d be performing with the kibbutz band in the Friday night program as well as on Saturday afternoon.
The musical programs would consist of traditional Israeli music. Although he’d not played those songs before, they were all ones he knew. He’d do his best to come up with his own arrangements but if he had to, he’d improvise; he was good at that sort of thing.
Larry was going to be performing on all three of the instruments he played well — piano, violin and acoustic guitar. The kibbutz would provide the instruments, so he wouldn’t have to bring his own. They wouldn’t be up to the caliber of the ones he was used to, but Professor Silver assured him they were more than acceptable.
He’d be expected to play a selection of music of his choosing for an hour-long program on Saturday. Choosing the pieces to play would occupy the bulk of his remaining time. He toyed with the idea of using half the time for a selection of classical pieces and half for a singalong.
Everyone, even the children at the kibbutz, spoke English. Even the young would be familiar with the music of the Beatles. Yes, a Beatles singalong, with Larry playing the guitar, would be a great way to connect with the members of the kibbutz.
The music festival was to be a rave that featured trance music, which wasn’t at all to his taste. The professor assured him his help would be invaluable in making the event a success.
Apparently, there was a problem with the site where it was to be held. Many more people would be attending than originally planned. The organizers were looking for a new site that would be more suitable. Perhaps he’d get lucky, and it’d be canceled. Then again, it would be something different and regardless, he’d have fun.
All thoughts about the upcoming trip would have to wait, however, as his afternoon classes began.
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“Hey, Dad. What are you doing home on a Monday afternoon?” Seth asked as he entered the apartment he shared with his parents and his husband.
“There’s been a slight change of plans,” the congressman explained. “One of our larger donors has invited me to attend a bar mitzvah this Saturday, in Jerusalem.”
“In Israel?” Seth asked in disbelief.
“It ain’t the one in Ohio,” Frank Moore replied in an attempt at humor.
“There’s a Jerusalem in Ohio?” Seth asked.
“It’s a tiny village in the middle of farm country,” his father explained. “I doubt they've ever had a bar mitzvah there,” he added with a laugh.
“So why are you goin’ to Israel to attend a bar mitzvah?” Seth asked. “It’s not like you’ve gone to any bar mitzvahs before. Other than Freck and Kyle’s double bar mitzvah last summer. Debbie and Lisa’s, too.”
“There were others, back when I was in the State Assembly,” Frank admitted. “We didn’t always tell you what they were. We didn’t want to interrupt your studies and besides, you weren’t always invited.”
Laughing, Seth said, “The things you learn about your childhood, once you’re an adult.”
“Trust me, there’ll be times you’ll wish you could go back to not being an adult.”
“I know what you mean, Dad,” Seth replied. “I’m only eighteen, but there are times I’d like to go back to when I was still home schooled. But then I wouldn’t have Asher and that is something I could not bear.”
“Life is full of trade-offs.”
“Will Mom be going?” Seth asked.
Shaking his head, Congressman Moore answered, “She couldn’t get away — not on such short notice.”
Seth understood that as an oncologist at the world-famous Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, she had patients enrolled in a variety of experimental cancer protocols. Unless she could get a colleague to cover her patients, there’d be unacceptable delays in their treatment and the data collected from those patients might even have to be discarded.
After a thoughtful pause, Seth asked, “Aren’t you worried about the appearance of accepting a free trip from a wealthy donor?”
“My colleagues across the aisle don’t seem to think it’s an issue as long as they’re the one’s traveling for free,” Frank responded with a bemused smile. “Yet they’d be the first to excoriate me. In this case, however, I’m not traveling for free. With everything that’s going on in Israel right now, this is a chance to kill two birds with one stone.
“I’ll fly out tomorrow at the taxpayers’ expense on a fact-finding mission with Congressmen Garbarino and D’Esposito, who are Republicans from New York’s second and fourth districts, and Congresswoman Clarke, a Democrat from New York’s ninth district.
“I’ve lined up a host of meetings and tours with Israeli officials over the next few days. Of course, not with Netanyahu. He won’t stoop so low as to meet with mere congressmen on such short notice.
“We’ll meet with some members of his cabinet, leaders of the opposition, judicial officials and protest organizers. It’ll be a whirlwind tour, and then I’ll stay for an extra day to attend the bar mitzvah before flying home.”
“You didn’t invite George Santos?” Seth quipped. “After all, he’s Jew-ish.” Rather than answer, Seth’s dad looked askance at his son.
“What exactly is the reason for the protests?” Seth asked. “I mean, I get that Netanyahu’s trying to alter the courts, but doesn’t Israel’s constitution prevent him from doing that?”
“That’s the problem, Seth,” his father answered. “Israel doesn’t have a constitution. It’s a state that’s governed by a parliamentary system. There are no checks and balances, other than the courts.
“There is no separate administrative branch of government. The cabinet heads are chosen as part of the deal-making that goes on behind closed doors to form a governing coalition. That’s how parliamentary systems work.
“They have the flexibility to change the government leadership much more rapidly than we do, but they’re inherently partisan and unstable.
“Our forbears rejected that concept when we scrapped the Articles of Confederation, at the Constitutional Convention. Instead, we adopted a Federal model with three independent branches of government.”
“But doesn’t Israel have a president,” Seth asked.
“Yes, they do, but it’s a largely ceremonial position without any power. The true check on parliamentary power is the court system, which is independent — even more so than in the U.S.
“In Israel, judicial appointments are made by an expert panel and not subject to confirmation by the Knesset. Perhaps there should be a mechanism for confirming and impeaching judges, but that’s not what this is all about.
“What Netanyahu’s governing coalition wants to do is to give the Knesset the authority to overrule judicial rulings. It would subvert the democratic process and allow them to stay in power indefinitely.”
“Holy shit! No wonder people are filling the streets,” Seth responded. “Why don’t they just adopt our system of government?”
“Given what happened on January six, do you really think our system’s superior?”
“I think it’s better than theirs,” Seth replied. “At least the rule of law still means something here.”
“Not with this Supreme Court,” the congressman countered. “Perhaps when one of us is the president, we can put an end to partisan politics,” he mused.
“Yeah, like that will ever happen,” Seth lamented. In fact, the two of them had bantered their ideas back and forth since Seth was barely out of diapers. While some politicians were more intent on their own political and financial gain, Frank and Seth saw public service as a calling.
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Robin was confused by the knock on the door as she slowly came out of a deep sleep. The knock was repeated and then there was a voice. “Robin, you need to get up, pitseleh.”
Still disoriented, she wondered why someone was telling her to get up in the middle of the night, but then she opened her eyes and saw that there was light streaming through the window, but it wasn’t her window. Her window was large, with a window air conditioner in one side of it and pastel shades. This window was much smaller, with pink draperies over it.
Then she realized the room wasn’t even her bedroom. Her bedroom was large, with a bunk bed and a twin bed in it. Now that both of her sisters were away at college, she had the room to herself and slept in the twin bed. But this was a double bed, and the furniture was strange.
Slowly, she remembered that she was in Israel with her father, her two sisters and her brother… no, her brother had stayed home. They were in Israel to attend a bar mitzvah and her brother wasn’t allowed to bring his boyfriend. Josh had chosen not to attend at all, rather than pretend he wasn’t gay.
There was a seven-hour time difference between New York and Israel. Although they’d gone to bed early by local standards and although she’d been exhausted, sleep had come in fits and starts. She’d finally gotten into a deep, restful sleep — and then her father had woken her up. As far as her body was concerned, it was barely after midnight and she was far from ready to start another day. She’d heard others complain about the misery of jet lag; now, she understood.
Pulling herself out of bed, she grabbed her toiletries and headed across the hall to the bathroom where she found her sister, Stacey, brushing her teeth at the sink. “Shower free?” Robin asked.
“Be my guest, Sis,” Stacey answered around her toothbrush.
Pulling off her nightgown and emptying her bladder, she got into the shower and adjusted the temperature. There were already bottles of shampoo and conditioner, as well as a bar of soap in the shower. She made quick work of washing her hair and her body before turning the water off.
Seeing three bath towels in the adjacent towel rack, she asked, “Does it matter which towel I use?”
“They’re in order of age,” Stacey replied. “Yours is in front.”
“Thanks,” Robin said as she took the front towel and dried herself off before getting out of the shower. Stacey exited as Robin applied her deodorant and brushed her teeth. Spotting a blow dryer hung on the wall, she plugged it in and brushed and dried her hair. The plug was European, with round prongs that were insulated except at the very tip. She had no trouble figuring out how to plug it into the 220-volt outlet.
Back in her room, Robin checked her phone and saw that the weather was going to be downright muggy in Tel Aviv, with a high of 81°F and humidity of 84%. Wasn’t this supposed to be a desert? Jerusalem would be quite a bit cooler, with a high of only 73°F and 44% humidity.
Unfortunately, she didn’t know where they’d be going for the day, so she opted for shorts and a t-shirt, with sweater tucked inside her backpack. That way, she’d be set if they went out to someplace nice in the evening, after the temperature dropped.
When she got to the kitchen, she found that her dad and her sisters were already there, as was Mike, who’d brought breakfast.
“Come in, Robin,” he said. “Please enjoy a typical Middle Eastern breakfast. These are all native dishes, and they’re much more popular here in Israel than the Eastern European foods you’re used to back home. No lox and bagels for us today.
“I think you’ll recognize several of these things. We have khubz and manakeesh, which are traditional flat breads. You might want to have them with humus or for something different, we have ful medames, which is made from…”
“Fava beans,” Robin interrupted. “We have a friend back home who lives in our neighborhood. He’s a well-known teenage chef who’s specialty is Cajun-Asian fusion. His father’s a black Creole from New Orleans and his mother’s an Asian-American from Queens in New York City.
“Anyway, every year he makes a Passover dinner for a bunch of us teens. He’s done a lot of research, and he makes it as authentic as possible to what might have eaten on the night before the Exodus. This year he served ful, which is believed to have originated in ancient Egypt. It’s one of the few dishes from that era that’s still eaten today.”
“Fascinating…” Mike responded. “Getting back to our breakfast, we also have labneh, which is a creamy strained yogurt that goes well with anything. It’s great with falafels, which we also have this morning. Falafels are one of the most popular foods in Israel today.
“Finally, we have shakshuka, which consists of poached eggs in a tomato-based sauce, with olive oil, onions, garlic, bell peppers and other spices. I understand it’s very similar to huevos rancheros, which is a dish you guys imported from Mexico.”
“This all looks wonderful,” Robin exclaimed, “but do you have coffee?”
“We have mint tea and Turkish coffee,” Mike answered. “I have to caution you — Turkish coffee is probably stronger than anything you might have had before. It’s even stronger than espresso and much more bitter. It’s usually sipped in a tiny cup, with the addition of a full teaspoon or cube of sugar.”
“I usually drink my coffee black, but I’ll reserve judgment until I taste if for myself.” Pouring herself a full cup, Robin took a taste and practically spit it out. Mike passed her the sugar bowl and she added a teaspoon of sugar. Taking another taste, she said, “It’s sweeter than I usually like my coffee, but with the sugar, it’s really good!”
The breakfast was wonderful, and after cleaning up and putting everything away, they all headed out into the hot sun to begin a full day of sightseeing.
<> <> <>
Ahmad woke with a start and sat bolt upright in bed. Moments before, he’d been in the center of Nablus. An angry crowd of people had surrounded him. They were dressed in traditional Arab garb. They were throwing stones at him. They were shouting at him in Arabic, calling him names.
Sweat poured down his face and torso as he recalled the vision of just a few seconds before. He realized it was a dream, but it seemed so real. It wasn’t the first time he’d had that dream either.
Looking at his phone, he saw that it was already close to 6:00. His alarm would be going off soon. Canceling the alarm on his phone, he got up and plodded across the hall to his bathroom. Letting loose his stream, his erection slowly deflated. Adjusting the water temperature, he got into the shower and washed away the sweat from his nightmare.
Getting out of the shower, Ahmad trimmed his beard and then headed to the kitchen, not bothering to put any clothes on. His brother was on a surgical rotation and had already left for the day.
Opening the freezer, he grabbed a packet of cooked chickpeas. It was one of several he’d prepared over the weekend. To him, there was no comparison between home-cooked chickpeas and canned, and freezing them made it easy to remove the skins. He just didn’t have time to cook them every morning.
Throwing the chickpeas into his small blender, he added tahini, a clove of garlic, a little cumin, some olive oil and lemon juice, and turned the blender on, letting it run for a full minute.
When he was done, he spooned the fresh hummus into a small bowl, warmed some pita bread in the microwave and followed it by a mug of mint tea. Once the tea had steeped, he enjoyed a traditional Arab breakfast as he read the latest news using the New York Times app on his phone.
There were mammoth protests in Israel every evening which was great news. Maybe the Jews would tear each other apart, giving the Palestinians a fighting chance. Sighing, he realized that about the only thing that would unite the Israelis would be a new Intifada, and that would only bring pain and suffering to his family back home.
After placing his dishes in the dishwasher and then brushing his teeth, he returned to his room and got dressed for the day. A quick check of his phone showed it was already 18 degrees and going up to 25, or as the Americans would say, 63 with a high of 77.
It’d be warm enough by the time he got to school, so he dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, then locked up and headed to the Christopher Street — Sheridan Square subway station, a few blocks away. Boarding an Uptown 1-Train, sixteen stops and 25 minutes later, he exited onto the Columbia University campus.
Nodding at some of his classmates and sitting with his best friends, Seth and Clarke, he began another ‘exciting’ day of his college education.
<> <> <>
Simon smiled broadly when he spotted his boyfriend as he boarded the Bx10 bus. It was a rare coincidence, as the boys could never be sure that Craig’s connection would put him on the same bus that Simon boarded later in the route. Craig gave up his seat so he could be near his boyfriend and he helped the driver strap Simon’s wheelchair in place.
“Thanks, Wallace,” Simon said in greeting to his bus driver as the driver returned to his seat. In the short time since he’d been going to school at Bronx Science, he’d gotten to know all the regular drivers on his bus route.
“Hey,” Craig said in greeting to Simon as the bus got underway.
“Hey back,” Simon said as he looked up at his boyfriend who was standing by his side, holding onto the overhead pole that extended across most of the right side of the bus. “Did you have pleasant dreams?”
“Very pleasant,” Craig answered. “I dreamt about you.”
Laughing, Simon responded, “How trite, but then I did the same with you. It’s too bad you can’t spend the night more often.” Then lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, “Then I could put away the vibrator for good.” Although meant only for Craig’s ears, it was obvious from the way people nearby looked away that several others heard it, causing both boys to blush furiously.
“Got any plans for Halloween?” Craig asked.
“What d’ya mean?” Simon asked.
“Do you have any plans for a party or to go trick-or-treating?”
With a hearty laugh, Simon replied, “Trick-or-treating’s a non-starter for me. I’ve never been. Most houses have steps and, to me, steps are like a fence. I can’t go past them. It’s hard to ask for candy when you can’t even get near the front door.
“Ditto for parties. Not that I’ve ever had friends before, but not many people’s homes are designed with wheelchairs in mind. Fuck, even my house isn’t fully accessible. My parents put an addition on ours with an accessible bedroom and bathroom for me, and they widened the doorways so I can use the living room, dining room and kitchen, but I’ve never been on the second floor or in the basement. Even in a high rise building like yours, the doorways are too narrow and forget about getting into the bathroom.”
“You do okay when you stay overnight in my place,” Craig responded.
“Only because you moved your furniture around, so my wheelchair could fit. And I can only use your bathroom with the door left open. At least it’s en-suite, so that’s okay. Even if you had a party, though, I’d be trapped. Add a bunch of kids to your living room and I couldn’t move without constantly asking them to move, so I’d end up stuck in the corner.”
“Maybe we could invite just a few friends, like Larry and Robin, Tanner and Zach and maybe Zach’s brother, Jake, and his date. That’s a small number of good friends who wouldn’t mind being asked to move out of the way.
“But first, seein’ as you’ve never been, perhaps we could go trick-or-treating first. You don’t have to worry about steps in high-rise buildings like ours, and you can collect a lot of candy without walking all over ‘the neighborhood’.”
“Aren’t we a little old for trick-or-treating?” Simon asked.
Shrugging his shoulders, Craig answered, “We’re fifteen and we wouldn’t be the only teenagers going from door-to-door at Castle Village. I grew up there and most people know me, and some of them even like me, I think.”
“But we’d hafta dress up,” Simon complained. “How the fuck can I dress up for Halloween in this wheelchair?”
“That’s an easy one, Simon,” Craig replied. “Why not use your wheelchair as part of your costume? You could go as your hero, Stephen Hawking.”
“I don’t look anything like Stephen Hawking,” Simon countered.
“Meh; with a little makeup, a wig or hair dye, some dress clothes and a hunched posture, you’d pass. We could program your keyboard to say ‘trick or treat’ in a computer voice, just like Stephen Hawking used.”
A smile spread across Simon’s face as he thought about it. “Actually, that would work.”
“So how about it? A little trick-or-treating, followed by a party at my place, and then a sleepover?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Simon agreed.
<> <> <>
As he boarded his flight to Tel Aviv, Congressman Frank Moore could scarcely believe the events of the past week. He was well aware of just how contentious things had become in the House, but seeing the workings of Congress from the inside gave him a whole new perspective. Just prior to the 2022 election, the President had managed to strike a deal with Republicans to keep the government from defaulting on its debt. Thank God for that!
The deal averted a catastrophic default, but it didn’t address the demands of most Republicans to reduce the deficit. A ballooning national debt might not be good fiscal policy, but it wasn’t the disaster some people made it out to be.
If Congress could ever get its act together, the debt would take care of itself as a robust economy refilled the treasury’s coffers. The problem was that the only way to cut the deficit was to cut spending or raise taxes.
The latter was a non-starter for the Republicans. That was their signature issue and it was popular with voters. Never mind that American taxes were among the lowest in the developed world.
However, most government spending wasn’t discretionary. Unless Congress was willing to risk America’s security by cutting the size of the military, cutting spending meant cutting popular social programs their constituents relied upon.
In Congressman Moore’s opinion, the Republicans wanted to reverse most or all of President Biden’s agenda, but doing so would barely make a dent in the deficit. Besides which, they lacked the votes to override a guaranteed veto.
Congressman Moore had gotten his fill of political brinkmanship as Republicans held the budget hostage yet again. They kept making demands for huge spending cuts they knew would harm their constituents the most. It was all political theater in a game with no winners.
The story was all over the news media. It was on CNN, MSNBC and Fox News alike. It was reported in the New York Times and in the very conservative New York Post. It was all anyone was tweeting about on what had recently become X. The Congressman didn’t need to watch or read any of those. He lived it.
In the end, Speaker McCarthy struck a deal with Democrats for a continuing resolution that passed with bipartisan support. Even so, plenty of Republicans voted against the measure. The most extreme elements of the party were furious, venting their anger in interviews and on social media.
Congressman Matt Gaetz of Florida made good on his threat to introduce a motion to vacate the speakership. Congressman Moore was inclined to throw the Speaker a lifeline, reasoning that the devil they knew was far better than risking the election of someone even worse.
The consensus among Democrats, however, was that McCarthy had demonstrated time and again that he couldn’t be trusted. Thus Frank Moore cast his vote along with all the other Democrats to support the motion. Combined with the votes of the most extreme elements of the Freedom Caucus, the motion to vacate passed.
In the midst of all of that, Congressman Moore received a personal phone call from one of his most ardent supporters, inviting him to attend his son’s bar mitzvah in Israel on October 7. Of course the bar mitzvah had been planned months ago, maybe even years ago.
Perhaps there’d been a last-minute cancellation, but for whatever reason, the invitation was just extended over the weekend. That put Frank Moore in a difficult position. He didn’t want to blow off a major donor, but there were rules that had to be followed.
Something as innocuous as a trip to Israel, paid for by a major donor, wasn’t allowed. It didn’t matter that the donor was flying dozens of family members and friends on a chartered flight to attend his son’s bar mitzvah. It didn’t matter that it was the donor’s choice to hold the bar mitzvah in the Holy Land instead of in New York.
It didn’t matter that the congressman and the donor had a friendship that went back decades. A congressman couldn’t accept a free trip to Israel under any circumstances. It would be seen as a gift for which the congressman might be expected to return a favor.
However, the congressman did have a legitimate reason to go to Israel on a fact-finding mission. There’d been daily protests in the streets of all the major cities in Israel for the past few weeks. The Prime Minister and his government were trying to restrict the power of the courts in the name of ‘judicial reform’.
What they were really doing was eliminating the only check on Parliamentary power. There’d be nothing to stop the right-wing government from simply annexing the West Bank or postponing elections indefinitely. The citizens of Israel were protesting what they saw as a threat to the very essence of their democracy.
Although Frank Moore wasn’t on any committees associated with foreign relations, intelligence or defense, large numbers of his constituents had relatives who lived in Israel, Gaza or the West Bank and they had a right to know what the hell was going on.
His office was receiving hundreds of emails, letters and phone calls every day, demanding he intervene on one side or the other. Not that there was anything he could do in any case. The entire Greater New York City Congressional delegation was facing the angst of their Jewish constituents.
To go to the Middle East on official business, the congressman would need to organize a CoDel — a congressional delegation. It needed to consist of a minimum of two Democrats and two Republicans, and he’d need the approval of the Speaker — a speaker whose job was in jeopardy.
Time was of the essence, and so the congressman wasted little time in lining up the delegation for the trip. However, if McCarthy actually survived the vote to remove him, the trip might need to be canceled. There was too much going on, but that didn’t happen. The vote for the Speaker’s removal cleared the calendar and Congress went into recess.
After getting approval from Speaker McCarthy as one of his last official acts, the congressman had his staff make the arrangements as he headed back home to New York to gather some things he’d need for the trip and to say goodbye to this wife and son. He returned to Washington in time to vote for the speaker’s removal and then headed to Dulles Airport with his colleagues to catch a flight to Boston, where they boarded a non-stop flight to Tel Aviv.
Congressman Moore expected it to be a rather ordinary trip. There wasn’t time to arrange a meeting with Netanyahu himself, but they’d meet with several cabinet officials as well as with the leadership of the opposition. He’d attend his friend’s son’s bar mitzvah on Saturday, and then fly home the next day. It would be as routine as a trip could be.
The author gratefully acknowledges the invaluable assistance of Rob in editing my story, as well as Awesome Dude and Gay Authors for hosting it.