When I was in middle school, my family lived for a little over three years in the city of Rehovot, about an hour south from Tel Aviv by bus. We moved there because of my dad’s job: a nuclear physicist, he worked for the Weitzmann Institute of Science. I have fond memories of Rehovot—of the fields on the edge of town around which my cross-country team would practice, of roller-skating down the empty streets with my friends on Yom Kippur (since there was no traffic for that one day each year), and of occasionally picking wild (and very seedy) oranges from the trees on the Weitzmann Institute premises.
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