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I was born in Tunisia, in Tunis, a few steps from that city’s large ghetto. My father, a harness maker, was somewhat pious, naturally somewhat so, as were all men of his trade and his station in life…
Some time ago, as I sat down to work in a Tel Aviv café in the area where I live, an elderly man suddenly approached me. “You are the son of Eliahu Shaharabani, of blessed memory,” he said, half…