I have to admit that during the first months I still had my doubts, but they disappeared the day I met Meir. He has a fruit and veggie shop in the neighborhood; he comes to all the demonstrations against the Africans, always in a pressed shirt. This Meir guy doesn’t say much, you see, unlike me. He isn’t big on talking, but when he does talk, he says beautiful things. He said his heart goes out to those poor souls from Africa. That he has no beef with them. That he isn’t fighting against them, he’s only fighting for his own life. That in a different world he’d be playing backgammon with each one of them, and would even let them win. He would come to each demonstration straight from his shop smelling like basil, and I’d stand behind him and sniff his shirt. One day he turned around, said he was sorry he stank, and I shouted that he didn’t stink at all. Meir asked me why I was always shouting, and without even thinking I made up a story about how I could barely hear, that I have a problem with my ears, so he smiled and said that if I shout like that no wonder I have a problem. Apart from that conversation we didn’t really talk much, but over time we started standing closer to each other, and in every demonstration I’d wait until we were all squished against one another to stand even closer to him. He wouldn’t say anything and I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, but I kept doing it because I thought that in this life I have nothing more to lose.