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"What are you looking at?”

He was an ars, a yahoo. From HQ or someplace. Supplies, driver, I don’t know.

I’m in basic training, on a base not far from Eilat. It’s 1987, and I am a pale, bespectacled new recruit.

“What are you looking at, squint-eyes?”

The answer to his question was simple. I was looking at him. But looking back, I can’t play...