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I used to trail behind on the way from the kibbutz. Next to the cemetery, my kibbutz cousins would speed up on the way down, leaving me alone, struggling with the spindly bicycle wheels that insisted on slipping into the ruts left by the tractor wheels on the muddy paths. My cousins from Kibbutz Yagur were experts at speed riding on heavy bicycles. They were tanned all year round, loud, dressed in torn...