It happens when he stands on line to buy a ticket to the movies. From the corner of his eyes, he notices her. She is conspicuous in her red-dotted white dress topped by a non-descript jacket - a fur-collared jacket in Tel- Aviv’s muggy evening. She is a youngish woman in her thirties- much younger then his 75 years. He immediately notices her. Her fur collar is a jarring, out-of-place adornment. Her hairdo is also odd, reminiscent of Hollywood's thirties’ Stars.

In Ilana’s room, a telephone, as well as two cell phones, are lying on the desk side-by–side.  Inside the telephone, incoming voice-messages accumulate one after the other:

“Ilan baby, how are you this morning, my daughter?  I shall never get used to the idea that you are going to have the Big Event on the beach.  I may be conservative.  As a matter of fact, I am.  But there’s a limit to everything!  Let me hear from you.”

"First rule: don't call me Dr. Halberstam. My name is Rosa".

Ali stares at the landlady. Her face is parchment - wrinkled. Her spectacles are the only smooth part of her face.

"Yes, Mrs. Rosa".

"No, no. Don't call me Mrs. - just Rosa".

I saw the notice about the death of Prof. Arthur Shmulevitz only on the evening of his funeral. Had I known about this on time, I would have left my lab to pay my last respects to the man who was such a central figure in my life.

At the lecture I gave tonight, I did not mention Stashek. I meant to say a few words about him and about what I discovered on Independence Day, but somehow it was deleted from my memory. Perhaps I was preoccupied with my new set of dentures given to me by that new damned dentist. This new set was supposed to make eating and talking easier and smoother. But my new dentist was grievously wrong. The dentures move loosely in my mouth and I live in constant fear lest any speech loosen them; my shame would be audible and visible. These blasted dentures are the reason why I forgot to mention Stashek and to tell the audience what I recently learned about him.

It happens when he stands in line to buy a ticket to the movies. From the corner of his eye, he notices her. She is conspicuous in her red-dotted white dress topped by a nondescript jacket – a fur-collared jacket in Tel Aviv's muggy evening heat. She is a youngish woman in her 30s, much younger than his 75. He immediately notices her. Her fur collar is a jarring, out-of-place adornment. Her hairdo is also odd, reminiscent of Hollywood stars of the 1930s.