“After months of unrelenting heat, a subtle transition had begun. The daytime winds blew as hot and dry as the land they swept, but late at night another breeze arose, moist and chill. The land licked its pale, dry lips, remembering rain. Too early yet, the kibbutzniks told each other, but nightly the clouds piled up and no stars were observed. Summer’s crop of volunteers dispersed, university students returned to the cities, and last June’s graduating class, Grace’s contemporaries, entered the ...army. The kibbutz settled in on itself. Overhead, flocks of pelicans and cranes flew south, headed for the Arabian peninsula and Africa. One Saturday afternoon, the wind blew in birds of a different feather. Three men in khaki fatigues, without insignia, strode into the dining hall, looked about, and approached the table where Micha sat with five other kibbutzniks. The oldest, a man of about fifty with a scarred face, planted himself in front of Micha. The others flanked him. “I want to talk to you,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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