I carefully removed the photo from the board and placed it on the bed. Gently, I opened the bottle and very slowly poured every last bit of the time onto the photo. And for three seconds, I was back there.

To tell you the truth, I hadn’t remembered the slap being so hard.

I have since improved my technique and fill up three bottles a day (flies I can already catch with one hand, but I always let them go). And I’ve also been working on a new plan. Yes, it’s brought my grades down, and I don’t have much time for friends either, and everyone around here thinks it’s foolish, dragging all these bottles and boxes into your room. If they had the energy they’d tell me as much, but they don’t. But you, if you’d pop by for a moment, you’d understand right away. I want to fill this whole house with time. So much that it would last my whole life. And not only mine, but Dad’s too, because his blood pressure isn’t that great, and Mom’s, because she’s too tired to do anything. And with all that time we’d have with you, maybe we’d finally start living, instead of staying stuck forever in one still moment.

Acknowledgments

This book was published thanks to many good people.

Deborah Harris, my agent, who believed from the first moment, and is always there to give good advice (even when I call after midnight). Hadar Makov, who gave this book a real chance before it was published. Alma Cohen Vardi, who taught me that stories have a temperature, and other important lessons. Daniella Zamir, who translated the stories beautifully to English, and yet managed to keep their original Hebrew spirit. Noa Manheim and Kinneret Zmora Bitan Dvir, who opened the first door. Ben Schrank, Olivia Dontsov, and all the people at Astra, that helped the stories cross the Atlantic Ocean, and gave them a warm home.

Dr. Gal Raz and the others at the Immersive Media & Cognition Group, that helped me better understand narratives, and how they affect the human brain. Friends and family who read and commented on things I wrote, before I realized I was writing stories. My parents, sisters, and my grandfathers and grandmothers, who taught me to love good stories and Jerusalem. Neria, who was there since our first meeting in Havana.

And last, thank you, the reader, for visiting Jerusalem Beach.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR