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A Man Named Goebbels

13 10 0
11.10.2019

The red BMW slid into the quiet street at the appointed hour; Luxembourgers are punctual. This was this Sunday in a suburb of Luxembourg City. He got out of the car. We embraced. It was 40 years since we’d seen each other and it showed in our appearance. In the late 1970s, we were up-and-coming young men – at least so they thought in the U.S. State Department, which invited each one of us to take a month-long private tour of America, to plan as we wished. Yossi Sarid, who took part in the program before me, helped me plan the trip. I was too embarrassed to ask for Las Vegas and instead, like Sarid, I flew to a United States Strategic Command Airbase in Omaha, Nebraska, where I heard an American fighter pilot call my name from the skies.

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Somewhere in the southern U.S., our paths crossed, and we spent a few days touring together. I recall sailing with him on the deck of steamship on the Mississippi River, and he claimed this week that I tried to flirt with a waitress in New Orleans. Of course, I remembered his name – Goebbels. Robert Goebbels. And how he had told me that sometimes........

© Haaretz