I am writing while currently in a food coma, blurred visions of freshly squeezed orange juice, homemade hommus, and shakshuka (foreigners—look it up—trust me) doing some kind of clumsy Israeli folk dance in my head. My three roommates and I had to combine efforts to roll each other from the car to our doorstep, and we now barely fit in our temperamental elevator—I’m sure we were dangerously flirting with the six-person weight limit....

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