It was surprising that his cousin’s package had arrived safely. Newspaper clippings about Judaism and Arab iniquity were something the customs inspectors should have confiscated, but perhaps they’d been too tired to vet every parcel. Lucky for him.

There was a big pile of dirt in back, where the little Hebrew School bochurs would play King of the Mountain—tugging, tearing, biting, punching, using whatever weapons they could get their tiny hands on to topple whoever scrambled up the mound first.