Remember me
Where do we begin with the myth of universal human rights? I was on my knees, zip-tied, hunched forward, trying to hold, with two fingers, a black plastic bag containing the layers of clothing that had been stripped from me. I managed to shove my passport beneath my forehead, a thin barrier between my skin and the concrete. “Hatikvah”, the Israeli national anthem that I had recited regularly as a child, played on repeat overhead.
“Good dog,” one of the female guards said in English.
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