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7.

[email protected]

July 17, 2009, 11:56:20

Subject: Re: Hi Yuli

Why didn’t it send??? I need to talk to you.

Best,

Alma Rosenblum,

Emissary for the Jewish Agency for Israel in New Delhi

8.

[email protected]

July 17, 2009, 12:16:34

Subject: Re: Hi Yuli

Delivery to the following recipient failed permanently:

[email protected]

Technical details of permanent failure:

Google tried to deliver your message, but it was rejected by the server for the recipient domain gmail.com by gmail-smtp-in.l.google.com. [2607:f8b0:4001:c1b::1a].

The error that the other server returned was:

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9.

GRANDPA CAME HOME for the weekend. When Dad and I went to visit him, we found him sitting alone on the roof. Stripped down to his underwear and white T-shirt, he had placed his black army boots near the entrance to the balcony and hung his uniforms on the clothesline. He held an IWI Tavor rifle in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other.

“I see they were generous with the equipment,” I said to Grandpa, who turned his head to me, nodding contentedly. Dad pulled up a chair and sat down beside him silently.

“Well,” I asked, “how was it?”

“Grueling,” he replied. “Especially in the reception base. They’re worse than the Social Security office, believe me. Just filling out the forms at the sorting officer’s took me four hours.”

“What forms?” Dad asked, to which Grandpa smiled. “I assumed you’d want copies,” he said, taking out a few folded papers from his pocket. “Don’t worry, the sorting officer said it was routine protocol. To make sure you didn’t send me off to the army just because you didn’t feel like forking up the money for a retirement home.”

Dad skimmed through the forms. “Congrats, looks like you signed a terrific contract.”

“I actually didn’t even read it.”

“I can tell,” Dad said. “Just so you know, if you happen to be dying as we speak, or get Alzheimer’s, the army won’t have to pay you a single shekel. That’s one upstanding organization, your IDF,” he said to me, and sighed. Even two years after my discharge, to him I was still the commander in chief’s official representative. Dad unzipped his black fanny pack and fished out a few papers. “Like I thought,” he said, “we’re going to have to get private health insurance.” He handed Grandpa a pen and a few folded forms.