On Sunday, in one of these days that the weather in Berlin, just like a girl before an important date, didn’t decide what it wants to look like. I was alone and went out to our balcony on the fourth floor, overlooking the flatness of Mitte. My neighbor was out smoking a cigarette. I apologized for any noises that our baby Maya was making in weird hours. He told me not to worry about it. I told him where I come from and so did he. I told him that my wife is German and works as a journalist. He told me that his wife is also a journalist working in PR. I swollowed my saliva. As a journalist, lately, we have to carry a lot of insults.

He told me that they read two newspapers every day, and about his brother who went to visit Israel only to meet people… weiter lesen