up on a hill, in the little colorful town of tzfat, we wandered the windy streets and got lost in the beautiful doors and views and shops with tree branch mezuzahs. a man on the hang drum played us a tune before we ate yemeni lahoh dressed up with tomatoes and cheese (and for the brave, some really wildly spicy stuff).
signs everywhere pointed to the cheese shop. so naturally we went, and on the way picked figs and green grapes... when we got there we saw cheese, but what we really saw was halva. enough to feed a colony. we purchased it by the brick, took it back to the kibbutz, and under the stars we crumbled it into our mouths in between talk of where are you from? and what's your story?