Staffwriter
[redacted], [redacted]
[redacted]
in hiding
remote village
Although it's been nearly a year since that Seder, I am still in fear for my life. The incident started as a simple invitation. Several of my jewish friends invited me to a Passover seder. “You get four glasses of wine,” they said. “It’s like Thanksgiving with three hours of prayers and none of the traditional food,” they said. “It will be fun,” they said. I was naive enough to accept the invitation.
A few days later, I donned a formal dress shirt, combed my hair, and made my way over to my friend’s house. Although I was fifteen …