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A man named Giora Eppes lives in our apartment block. A good father from a decent family. His daughter is a university lecturer in the history of embroidery in the Urals; the son produces folk-dance shows. He is a Maccabi fan, owns a taxi and has a playing-card collection. He doesn't play poker, not for money. All the drivers know him because of the car radio. "Hey, Eppes are you running?"...