“Democracy, democracy, democracy.” “Yariv Levin, the disgrace of Modiin.” These were the strange calls that I heard in my dream. They were accompanied by drums and loud whistles. And a very unpleasant smell of burnt rubber.
What a strange dream, I thought when I woke up. Strangely, I still had the pungent smell in my nose. Then I heard that drumming again along with the shouts of “democracy.” I realized it wasn’t a dream. It was real. I looked at my watch, it was 5:45 in the morning. “Democracy, democracy,” it continued to echo in my head. This can’t be real, I thought as I dragged myself out of bed to start the day much earlier than usual.
A place to call home
I live in a normally very quiet part of the city of Modiin, which is still referred to as the “bedroom community.” And a few houses away lives a now very famous neighbor, Justice Minister Yariv Levin. When we moved to Modiin, we were struck by the fact that Levin lives on our...
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