Out of her bag she pulled a full Musakhan, the Palestinian chicken dish baked in sumac over pita with pine nuts and onions, Yemenite saffron rice, hamentaschen. In her arms she carried a six-braid German-style challah, studded with nigella seeds. It smelled like joy.
What was shocking was the way, when Orli died one year later, Joan stepped into our lives, unobtrusively but decisively.
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