I am twenty-seven years old today. My birthday celebrations began last night at midnight, when my friends an I were at the Diwan for a "Vanunu party." Mordechai Vanunu is a rather infamous Israeli figure, having done as many things wrong as possible for an Israeli to do. First, he converted to Christianity. Then, he told the British media about Israel's nuclear capabilities in the eighties. He was convicted and sent to prison for 18 years, only to be released yesterday. So, like good little left-wingers, we went to a party in his honor. And it was there, at exactly midnight, that my nearest and dearest toasted to me with Arak.
When I had imbibed a sufficient amount, I went home and woke Jeffrey up. He answered quite groggily with a mumbled "happy birthday," and I think maybe we spoke for a few minutes? Neither of us remembers much. Eight hours later, he woke me up to wish me happy birthday again, so that the last thing I heard before I went to sleep and the first thing I heard when I woke up was his voice. Not a bad way to start out my twenty-seventh year, eh?