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Tears spring to my eyes. What kind of bar mitzvah will I have? I turn away, trying to hide my reaction to the judge’s words

Ima looks upset. “He said,” she whispers, “that he’s willing to trade. He will get his son and we can keep his daughter.”

“Meir!” Abba’s voice shatters my concentration. I blink and look around in confusion. “Meir,” he whispers, “It’s your turn to speak. Go to the stand.”