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About Beersheba

Alright, strap in, pals! So, findin’ a prostitute—wild, right? I’m Tina Fey, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!”—and lemme tell ya, this ain’t no picnic in Paris like *Amour*. That movie? Old folks, love, death—real slow burn. “You’re my little bird,” he says in it, all tender-like, but here I am, thinkin’ about hookers, and it’s less “bird” and more “screamin’ hawk on the corner.”

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Neither the lascivious whore of the Restoration nor the tragic prostitute dead to all feeling imagined by midcentury reformers, Roxana fears the Jew—the posited.

But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my mom. She’s like, “You need to come over for dinner.” I’m like, “Mom, I’m busy!” But you know how it is. You can’t say no to mom. So, I pack up and head over to her place on Al-Mahajir.

Arab Israelis are joining the IDF in growing numbers: officials