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Number 12

Dov Haller

“Yishtabach Shmo” was Zohara Benhammou’s favorite expression. She never tired of expressing gratitude to the One Above, bracelets clinking as she pointed upward to praise He Who had given her so much.

Monday, September 16, 2013

Mifgash Hakikar, the eatery she ran with her husband, Gabi, was in a prime spot — right in the center of Kfar Yehuda. The rent was reasonable and Gabi was dependable and hardworking, even if she wished he would smile a bit more. Gabi and Zohara had wonderful sons, strapping young men who could run the hectic kitchen even as they bantered with customers. And they had Kobi, ben porat Yosef.

“His mother thinks he’s something special, that one,” Gabi would say when people discussed Kobi. His eyes would crinkle at the corners, as if divulging the truth that he, too, was bursting with pride.

The walls of the eatery featured pictures; Kobi with great rabbanim, Kobi with the prime minister, Kobi speaking to students. Sometimes, customers eating shawarma or merguez were fortunate enough to experience the real thing, Kobi himself. He still lived in town, though he was rarely around.

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