The plague we don't read about in the Haggadah
Doron Rosenblum spots a shwarm of shpeculations.
We were not taken by surprise. We had received warnings, we saw them coming. But when they covered the eye of the sky, it was already too late. Spraying, banging on cans, trying to catch them in a net − none of it helped when those ravenous creatures started to devour everything in sight: the brown locusts of speculations, the desert locusts of guesses, the migratory locusts of predictions.
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