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Jake and I were paying scant attention to our pizza because the moment was so exhilarating. We were two scions of pampered home lives in a posh suburb on Long Island, products of a high school known for sending graduates to the Ivy League and after that a life of material success living the American dream. Yet here we were in a grungy pizza shop in East Jerusalem, Jake in a suit (a suit in August, mind you, and not for a job... Read more here