Winter 2001 – Intifada II. I am abroad, on a three-month gig.
Two identical messages arrive in short succession from my two kids: “I’m ok”.
This is Standard Operating Procedure for our family when a family member is abroad. I now know, even before the news breaks on the local media, that a bus has been blown up in Tel Aviv or some outrage of the sort; and that they are all right.
Back to work.