Jerusalem in South Carolina

Last night, as I was doing  laundry, I  ran into a neighbor who asked me where I’d been last  fall. When I said Jerusalem, his eyes lit up and he told me that he’d been there three times, too. As a contractor—by now, living where I do, I knew this meant military—he had had three stopovers in Israel while installing these “flat air-conditioners, you know.”  “I am not a religious person,” he went on, “but Jerusalem!” He took my arm and dragged me to the little hut housing our mail boxes. Slightly alarmed, I had little choice but to follow him. Once inside, he pulled up his t-shirt and revealed an elaborate pentagram with wings decorating his left chest: his personal reaction to the religious fervor of Jerusalem. Clearly, he was expecting a response, but all I could come up with was an eloquent “Eh, nice.” Oh, Jerusalem!


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