The shooks, even Dizengoff, the old beaches, the Galil, the drive to Eilat.

The Gulf War, with my ill-fitting gas mask and the trend for snazzy, jazzy gas-mask holders. Parties in bomb shelters and clubs along the Tel Aviv Tayelet, and thinking we were better off enjoying the music than fleeing the sirens and Scuds to who-knows-where. There was nowhere to go.

Rachel – do you remember the story I wrote using your namesake?