My sister was standing with a few other students under the dim glow of Harvard Yard’s old lampposts, casually smoking and chatting. “Oh, you’re Palestinian?” one of them asked as he leaned in to light his cigarette from hers. “My cousin is in the IDF [Israeli army].”Then he placed the cigarette in his mouth backwards, the lit end burning between his teeth. “This is how my cousin smoked while shooting Palestinians at the border,” he said. “So those idiots couldn’t see the flame.”
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