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 with the same family name as theirs.

He asked how I like the apartment, and I answered that we really like the two balconies, and it is not as noisy as our old apartment and that we were looking for a bigger place, but we found this place OK. He asked and I answered that we didn’t have enough money to afford bigger flats that we saw.

“But you Jews always have a lot of money”, he said.

The few rays of sun were completely completely defeated by the moving clouds now. I looked down and told myself to shut up, to let it go, to take a big breath.

“And you know we are hiding it in our noses”, I said.