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37 Sweet Sixteen You are sixteen. First trip to Jerusalem. Fashionably clothed by London’s Harrods— khaki pants tied at the ankles with silk ribbons, khaki top with slits for pockets, a khaki beret placed just so above your long curls that cascade down your back, and in high heel patent leather shoes, you are a picture of high fashion, an Iranian girl in London’s best striding proudly into the Tel Aviv airport. There are stares, furtive smiles, wide-eyed inspections, every head turned.You think you are something, a modern day beauty unleashed, a future movie star, until you see you are a stooge dressed like the soldier with the gun. ...

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