Titlebook: Borders and Belonging: A Memoir; Mira Sucharov Book 2021 The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Sprin

邪恶的你

Logic and the Organization of Information,ing ready to go away to summer camp and there won’t be room for it in my duffel bag. This camp is not the one I really want to go to. The one I really want to go to is the Jewish camp my dad went to for thirteen summers, the camp where everyone speaks Hebrew.

DOTE

seduce

ULCER

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4612-0649-1The long nose of his rifle—with such a long gun, he must still be junior in the ranks—is pointed toward the floor. I hope I haven’t accidentally let my head rest on his shoulder. It’s nearing 8:30 a.m., and I am still sleepy from catching the Egged bus an hour earlier in Tel Aviv after a late night

合唱队

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4612-0649-1s house. My stepmom, who is much different from the Archie comics-collecting girlfriend my dad used to have who didn’t want me to sleep over, likes when I come for dinner and sleep over. She’s trying to create a family feeling between me and my dad and her and her two kids, like when she presents me

COUCH

Posters & Flags,gs of Israel. That April during the Passover holiday, I had dragged myself out of my apartment near trendy Sheinkin Avenue, walked across town, and traversed the square to see the latest Woody Allen movie as my roommates traveled for the holiday and the city streets were eerily quiet.

evaculate

Fallujah,n’t probe. I’m just glad to have been inducted into this little Labor Zionist community in Israel, this kibbutz in the desert, close enough to the Gaza Strip to be aware of the political tensions, and enough of an insider in this little community to know the nickname of the fields that some of the k

crumble

Re/Intermarriage,ing ready to go away to summer camp and there won’t be room for it in my duffel bag. This camp is not the one I really want to go to. The one I really want to go to is the Jewish camp my dad went to for thirteen summers, the camp where everyone speaks Hebrew.

图表证明

Moles,ilk, and whisks. “Ron bought a flat of blueberries yesterday.” She motions to the fridge and to my stepdad with a single wave of her arm. I open the fridge and grab a handful of the berries and pop them in my mouth. I feel the little spheres pop and savor them as I swallow. Israel easily wins on tom

STRIA

Cabins,ncing back and forth between the camp-issued packing list and the clothes piled next to the ironing board ready to have name labels affixed: twenty-one pairs of athletic socks, twenty-one pairs of underwear, six pairs of shorts, twelve T-shirts including my iron-on Saturday Night Fever shirt, three