lethargic_man: (capel)
Here is the children's siddur that I, along with all the children in the Newcastle Jewish Nursery School, was presented with in 1977 to commemorate the Queen's Silver Jubilee.

[photo] [photo]

The irony is that it's an American publication: I find it amusing to have the dedication to the Queen at one end and the Star Spangled Banner at the other.

Moreover, facing the Star Spangled Banner is the Hatikvah (the Israeli national anthem). As a child I had no idea what either of those was, but, being used to seeing Hebrew in siddurim with its translation on the facing page, for many years I was under the impression that the Star Spangled Banner was the translation of the Hatikvah!

[photo]

lethargic_man: (computer geekery)
The process that led to my becoming a software engineer started in 1982, when I joined my school's computer club, where the teacher, Mr Eastwood, proceeded to teach us tykes to program.

I don't have any copies of my first program—I don't think we were given any opportunity to save or print out what we'd done at the time—but here's the first program of mine I have, in, as it turns out, not any digital format at all.

[photo of hand-written computer program]

From its content, it would appear I was eleven at the time, though I can't have been so for long, as my father got a BBC Micro that year and I rapidly switched from programming in the Spectrum BASIC this program is written in to BBC BASIC.

I have to confess, I find myself a little underwhelmed, looking at it, at the quality of my programming when I was eleven (not to mention my ability to leave myself enough paper when starting to write it down). The references at lines 21, 27 and 28, BTW, are to things my family called my brother when he was a toddler.
lethargic_man: (reflect)
Something I wasn't really aware of until the last few years is the vast migration of ethnically-cleansed German refugees at the end of the War. One can argue about the rights and wrongs of this—certainly, Germany as a society had to be punished for what it had done (though the role of the Treaty of Versailles in the rise of Nazism should have shown the dangers of doing so in a blunt manner), but not all of the people forced to leave their homes would have been guilty of any wrongdoing. Furthermore, prior to the War, there were German colonies right the way across eastern Europe, way into Russia, descendants of German traders in the Middle Ages. Most of these also got expelled from their countries, and one can't help feel sorry for people dumped into Germany who had nothing to do with the Nazis, and who knew nothing of German life, as their ancestors might not have lived there for centuries.

It's (reasonably) well known that Poland moved a hundred miles to the west at the end of World War II. It's not really clear to me why; it seems to me Stalin performed a naked land grab of eastern Poland, but, not wanting to reduce the territory left to Poland, gave it Germany's eastern territories instead. Maybe he wanted to punish the Germans living east of the Oder-Neisse line by evicting them from their homes, but what I didn't discover until last week was that he also ended up punishing a vast number of Poles by evicting them from their homes in the east of the country (rather than either granting them Soviet citizenship or letting them remain as aliens). This left me appalled: there's a word for this; it's called Lebensraum, and it was the policy of the regime he had just been fighting.

Anyhow, something which occurred to me a while ago was to wonder how much of the territory taken from Germany to give to Poland at the end of both World Wars was German all along, and how much of it taken from Poland in the first place during the eighteenth-century partition of Poland (and yes, that part of history was indeed doomed to be repeated). (Or indeed how much was territory that Germany had dispossessed Poland of earlier still, but before the nineteenth creation of the German Empire, there was no German nation state, but just a mishmash of duchies, kingdoms and the like, any of which may or may not have been part of the German Confederation, the North German Confederation or the Holy Roman Empire, or had German or Polish rulers, or German or Polish citizens, etc, so it becomes difficult to tell without more research than I can be bothered to put into this.)

[livejournal.com profile] aviva_m said there was probably a map online which showed the information I was after, but I couldn't see one with a few minutes' googling, so I created my own, by crudely superimposing two maps from Wikipedia; the areas in red were the parts of pre-WW1 Germany which had been Polish before the partition of Poland.

[map]

Of course, that's not the end of the story. Pomerania, northeast of the present border, I discovered last week not to have been Polish since the Middle Ages; at various times it was independent, Danish, and (prior to the eighteenth century) Swedish. Silesia I have no clue about. I probably ought to rectify my ignorance at some point, but I find it hard to be motivated to learn the history of a country that can't be reduced to linearity like my own, but has to be considered as the sum of its many many parts.

Jan Czekanowski

Thursday, August 6th, 2015 06:31 am
lethargic_man: (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] aviva_m and I just spent an overnight trip in Szczecin, which is just over the Polish border from Germany; for both of us it was our first time in Poland. Whilst we were there to do tourism, at the back of our minds we were conscious of the fact Poles have a reputation for a rather unreconstructed attitude towards Jews.

When we went on a tour of a wartime air raid shelter—which was fascinating for me, to see a glimpse of the wartime experience on the other side—[livejournal.com profile] aviva_m was struck by the fact that, though it talked a little about the general wartime conditions, not a single mention was made of what happened to the country's Jews. For me, following the guide in a printed English translation, the line about the air raid shelter having guards at the entrance to deny foreigners access (including, apparently, Poles whose ancestors had been living in what had been German territory since the eighteenth-century Great Northern War), had the addition "and Jews", but that was all.

By chance we came across a plaque on a wall marking where the synagogue had been, and that the community, dating from 1812, had been murdered in the Holocaust, but the plaque was not put up by the authorities (and was up a grassy bank, such that you couldn't read it from the pavement).

Then, in a park, we came across a statue of Jan Czekanowski:

[photo]

There was no explanation of who he was, but on Wikipedia afterwards I read that he was "a Polish anthropologist, statistician and linguist, known for having played an important role in saving the Polish-Lithuanian branch of the Karaim people [Crimean Karaites] from Holocaust extermination. In 1942 he managed to convince German 'race scientists' that the Karaim were of Turkic origin although professing Judaism and using Hebrew as a liturgical language. This helped the Karaim people escape the tragic destiny of other European Jews and the Romas."

I'd vaguely heard of this before, but hadn't known who was responsible, and thought I'd take the opportunity to bring it to your attention.
lethargic_man: (Default)

Places wot I been to, updated for this year's travels in Sicily, Malta and Poland:

map )



map )

lethargic_man: (Berlin)
It's looking increasingly likely now that I'll be emigrating to Germany, which raises the question of what to do with my possessions. Specifically,* since I came to London I set about amassing a personal library, of all the books I'd read from the library but wished to reread or lend to friends, and it's now quite large.

* I.e. I am choosing to concentrate here on this, and ignore, for example, my succah, which, given that I bought the components of it and assembled it myself, I also have a sentimental attachment to, or my bike, which I've a good mind to take with me by travelling overland by train, with bike and suitcase and careful planning.

Over the course of the last year, I've been weeding out of it anything I didn't think was good, or had managed to completely forget the content of (even if my book log says that I thought it was good), or was never likely to want to reread or consult again. However, that still leaves over two and a half Billy bookcases' worth, all told.

I know there are some people who would get rid of the lot (and others who would attempt to sell the books, then buy the same ones again at the far end), but I'm rather attached to my books; I want to take them with me. The question is: is this sensible? This is going to cost!

Recently, I've been considering another purge of my bookshelves, but this time it would have to involve books I know are good. [livejournal.com profile] aviva was horrified when I mentioned this to her. But these are books that I'm simply never likely to read again.

Which raises the question of what the point of a personal library is. Despite my intentions, it's very rare that I actually get around to rereading any of my books; there's too much I've yet to ever read for that! But I do sometimes lend them to friends, and I do also from time to time take one down and browse bits of it. And those who have attended my Shabbos lunches know I can rarely get through one without taking a good handful of books down to consult, read from or just generally wave around. But regardless of any of these, I find the mere presence of books I've known and loved to be comforting.

But how high a price for transport does that sentimental attachment really justify? Anyone got any thoughts here? Or, indeed, advice from anyone else who's moved countries (or distances too long to make sticking everything in a rental van (assuming my library would even fit now!) sensible) on what is intended to be a permanent basis.

† Another argument against e-books, I suppose, though since I do the majority of my reading on Shabbos, I'm never going to be switching to those. Plus, as [personal profile] rysmiel first pointed out back in <checks> 1998, I'm a hardcopy romantic.

‡ Yes, I've looked into this. It would require around twelve hours' driving, but it seems to be just about impossible to hire a van for a one way trip out of the UK. The sensible solution would be to hire one at either end and either drive it back myself or find someone else prepared to. But it's probably cheaper just to crate my possessions up and send them off.
lethargic_man: (capel)
Here's a question for you. Why do I never see the kind of Jew I am—acculturated (and non-capel-wearing, though even MO would be an improvement), but deeply engaged in Jewish life, someone for whom ritual observance is at least reasonably important, but has a preference towards grassroots minyanim over established synagogues—represented in dramas on either the small or the silver screen?

There's plenty of us about—my social life revolves around several intersecting sets of such people—but those who commission dramas seem either not to know about us, or choose to ignore us, or deem our demographic too difficult for the general populace to get our head around.

Or possibly I'm just watching the wrong programmes and films—can you point out counterexamples?

[ETA: Some suggestions on the crosspost over on Facebook.]
lethargic_man: (Default)
I was listening to Our Routes by Gypsy Hill a few days ago, and it occurred to me I never blogged about it or them here. (I appreciate that this is a somewhat inappropriate day to discuss music for some of my readers, but it's when I've got around to writing this; you can always read the post now, and investigate the album if you're interested later.)

Gypsy Hill were the support act at the Fanfare Ciocǎrlia concert I went to earlier in the year; but they were one of those rare* occasions where the support act was as good as the main act, and indeed I got myself the CD before the main act had even come on the stage.

* Hah, what do I know what I'm talking about, from the number of times I go to concerts?

Gypsy Hill's setup was like that of the Apples, the Israeli dance band I saw perform at Limmud Fest back in 2008: a drummer, a substantial brass section, and a DJ (in this case, very thin and with long long hair) scratching and sampling on the turntables.

On further investigation, there turned out to be an actual connection: one of the members of the Apples is thanked on the Our Routes sleeve notes, and the album and the Apples' Attention! share a sample (of a man saying "These are the things that you and I have to understand": a little googling suggests this may be from a speech by Malcolm X). (There are a few other spoken-word samples, which one can enjoy oneself identifying: Tom Jones saying "Think I'd better dance now" is from the Art of Noise's cover of Prince's "Kiss".) Also, half of the band members have Israeli (Hebrew or Russian) names, and there's a short Hebrew-language sung intro and outro to an instrumental track.

The style of music is a little different from the Apples, though, being a heady mix of dance vibes and a mishmash from Eastern Europe, as can be seen from the track titles, which include "Căciula Pă Ureche" (Romanian), "Balaka", "Pachupa" and "Evitza" (anybody want to identify these languages?), "Balkan Beast", and "Afrita Hanem" (Egyptian), plus one swing jazz track. The name Gypsy Hill is a bit misleading, though: it turns out to be a suburb of London rather than indicating Romany influence.

The name of "Afrita Hanem" gave me a couple of nice linguistic "ping!" moments when I looked it up on Wikipedia. It transpires the music uses a bass line taken from a 1949 Egyptian film about "a poor singer who falls in love with the somewhat spoiled daughter of his boss. [When] her father won't let the marriage happen due to Asfour's class status, Asfour turns to a genie for help, but the [female] genie falls in love with Asfour instead, and tries to manipulate his desires." When I saw the title was given in English as Little Miss Devil, I realised I actually knew both elements of the name: `Afrita (عفريتة) is the feminine of `ifrit (عفريت), a type of genie you may have come across in the Thousand and One nights or elsewhere; and hanem (هانم‎) as a female honorific I knew from the Los Desterrados song "Buenas Noches, Hanum Dudu".

The only criticism I would really make of this album is that some of the tracks are too short; in particular, the first track seems to end just as it gets going. But if this, Gypsy Hill's first album is this good, I look forward to seeing what heights they will reach in the future.

Stromboli eruption

Thursday, June 25th, 2015 12:21 pm
lethargic_man: (Default)
Now here's a crazy sight:

View piccy )

Statue

Wednesday, June 24th, 2015 08:32 pm
lethargic_man: (Default)
There should be more statues with the facial expression of this one (set into a gigantic book!) of late Sicilian comedian Giovanni Formisano.

View piccy )

lethargic_man: "Happy the person that finds wisdom, and the person that gets understanding."—Prov. 3:13. Icon by Tamara Rigg (limmud)
After spending the Torah readings in shul the other year following along in a chumash with the Masoretic text down one side of the page, and the Samaritan text along the other, with the differences highlighted in bold, I thought I'd like to do the same this coming year with the Septuagint. (Note for non-Jewish readers: by this, I refer to the original translation of the Five Books of Moses described in the Letter of Aristeas, not the later extension of the term to cover the translation of the complete Bible.)

Of course, it would have to be in translation, as the Hebrew recension from which the Septuagint was translated has long been lost (though the Dead Sea Scrolls attest to bits of it), but you'd have thought scholars would have produced such a volume as a useful tool centuries ago. However, after some time googling, I've been unable to find a side-by-side comparison of this kind.

The best I've come up with is this, but I'm not entirely sure that's what I'm after, and it's just for the Book of Genesis. Do any of you reading this know of a book which offers what I'm looking for?
lethargic_man: (Default)
In common, I suspect, with some of you, I've been boycotting Amazon, where possible, for some while, until they improve the appalling ways they treat their workers. Yes, Amazon is very convenient, and frequently very cheap, but that cheapness comes at a moral price I am unwilling to pay any more.

However, nowhere else seems to have a tail just as long as Amazon's, and in particular I'm struggling to find an alternative outlet to purchase obscure music track-by-track legally and cheaply. I can google online MP3 shops, but given the history of MP3 piracy, I'm unwilling to take any random outlet I've never heard of as legal. So, MP3 generation, where do you go to buy your music when you're not going to Amazon?
lethargic_man: (Default)
After discovering last week that Syracuse was once the largest city in the world, I thought I'd make a map showing where the largest city in the world had been throughout history, but, not really surprisingly when you think about it, someone else has beaten me to it, so here's one I didn't make earlier.
lethargic_man: (Default)

Why are bike racks not everywhere like this one I saw in Valletta?

[bike rack in the shape of a bicycle]

I was a bit disturbed to read somewhere recently the one-liner that in Malta people drive on the shady side of the road—disturbed because I heard the same thing twenty years ago on Usenet. To my relief, it turned out not to be the case at all.

I was more trepidatious about getting behind the wheel of a car in Italy for the first time. To my further relief, however, most of the stereotypes about drivers in Italy are not true, or maybe not true any longer, at least in Sicily. The state of road signs in the country, however, is truly appalling; frequently we would be following signs to somewhere only for the sign to be missing completely at a critical junction or two in the middle of the route. Or alternatively, there would be so many signs (many for hotels) it would be impossible to pick out the information you needed in the time available; and the signs were frequently so small you could not read them in a speeding car until you were virtually on top of them.

But generally, driving in Sicily was a less disconcerting experience than driving in Israel, though it shared some characteristics with it, such as drivers assuming that if you were leaving a safe two second distance from the car in front, it was an open invitation to them to fill it. Italian drivers, however, did not, for example, pressure you from mere inches behind to go faster on unfamiliar roads twisting down the side of mountains with hairpin bends. And nothing could compare to the driving I saw by Israeli Arabs in Nazareth,* with the likes of motor scooters cutting sideways across slowly moving traffic then straight over the central reservation to finish with a rear-wheel skid into a space scarcely longer than the scooter's own length directly in front of me.

* Except non-Israeli Arabs; I don't think I've ever come potentially closer to death than when the jeep I was being driven in in the Sinai overtook another one at 50mph on the wrong side of the road on a blind corner on a road with five-foot ditches either side; if something had come in the opposite direction at that point, that would have been the end of us!

Which is why I was amused, last November, to see a prayer for drivers in וַאֲנִי תְּפִלָּתִי, the new Masorti siddur in Israel, which features "special prayers for uniquely Israeli moments". It began like תְּפִילַּת הַדֶּרֶךְ, the traveller's prayer, and shared some wording with it, but then went on with wording like (accuracy not guaranteed: I'm paraphrasing from memory after six months):

God, help me to be a good driver, and to keep my distance.

which is indeed an intention that Israelis need reminding of; but then went on:

Help me to remember that all other drivers are created in Your image, and that nothing justifies endangering them: neither time, nor money, nor honour, nor revenge.

As you can imagine, my mouth was hanging open by the time I reached the end of this; I've never seen anything like it in a siddur anywhere else before or since.

lethargic_man: Detail from the frontispiece of my (incomplete) novel "A Remnant Shall Be Preserved" (SF/F writer)
Finally, the sort of TV SF writers of the last century were so fond of, is on the way: something so thin you can hang it on the wall using magnets. (Well, I suppose that's just the display; once you've included the tuner and PSU and logic circuitry and hard disk solid-state media for recording programmes, it won't be quite so thin... yet.)
lethargic_man: "Happy the person that finds wisdom, and the person that gets understanding."—Prov. 3:13. Icon by Tamara Rigg (limmud)

When I was growing up, the impression I got is that there was a huge gap in ancient Jewish literature between the last books of the Bible, closing shortly after Cyrus the Great let the Jews return to their homeland in 538 BCE, and the Mishna, the first written formulation of the Oral Torah, written at the start of the third century CE.

This is unfortunate, because the rabbinic Judaism of the Mishna is very different to the ancient Israelite religion depicted in the Bible, and because of a taboo against writing down the Oral Law, there's very little to see how we got from the one to t'other. The Talmud paints a picture that "we've always done things this way", but, as [personal profile] liv first pointed out to me a dozen years and more ago, this is Pharisaic propaganda. The Pharisees radically reformed Judaism, recentring it from the Temple to the synagogue and home, to enable it to survive the destruction of the Temple, but, because they lived in a society that rejected innovation in religion, they had to make out everything new they came up with to have gone back to the year dot, even where the Bible clearly disagrees with it.

But it's not actually true that the literary record between the close of the Bible and the Mishna is as empty as one might think. There's a whole bunch of documents that were written during this period, which the Jews largely went to forget about; we call them the Apocrypha, and the Pseudepigrapha (and the writings of Philo of Alexandria and Josephus, and *ahem* the Gospels). None of these give us an in-depth examination of the development of the Oral Law or the embryogenesis of Pharisaic Judaism, but there are some clues if you look for them.

For example, one of the two main prayers in the Jewish liturgy is the `Amida. The Talmud gives a variety of contradicting accounts of how this prayer originated, over the course of hundreds if not thousands of years. However, if you want hard evidence, look to the Wisdom of Ben Sira, which contains a sequence of prayers following the same themes as the central prayers of the weekday `Amida (though the words are completely different).

A second example: The Bible is clear that מְלָאכָה "work" is forbidden on the Sabbath, but does not give more than a few hints as to what this includes: collecting things in (Ex. 16:26, Numbers 15:32) or transporting them into (Jer. 17:19ff) the public domain, conducting business (Amos 8:5, Neh. 10:31, 13:15. The Talmud uses hermeneutics to derive, from the fact that the order to keep the Sabbath is given immediately in the Torah after the instructions on how to build the Mishkān (Tabernacle), that the activities prohibited on the Sabbath are those that went into the construction of the Mishkān. However, this smacks of post-facto justification to me. If you look in the Book of Jubilees, however, written three and a half centuries before the Mishna, the last chapter gives a list of activities prohibited on the Sabbath. With the exception of sexual intercourse (which probably reflects the mores of the all-male monastic Qumran community), the list pretty much reflects modern Jewish practice, but does not correlate at all with the 39 categories derived by the Talmud.

So, returning to the main subject, I became intrigued to know what exactly there are written in the late- and post-Biblical periods, and when it was written, and here's what I found out:

View piccy )

Titles in green are ones I have read, those in red ones I would like to try and get to read some time; those in orange ones I have read but no longer remember anything of. :-( The collection of works is not a comprehensive list of everything written during this period.

The dates here are not systematic: some date ranges indicate uncertainty as to when the book was written, others that it was written over a period. The dates come, where possible, from books on my shelf, and where not, from Wikipedia.

A few of the dates need a little explanation: Ecclesiastes (קֹהֶלֶת), Wikipedia says, has two different sets of dates proposed for it depending on whether it has Greek influence, about which there is no agreement. And though the primary text of 2 Enoch dates to the first century, this text was tweaked to add Christian and Gnostic references any time up to the seventh century.

Lastly, the impression I get is that the Book of Daniel represents the gathering of a series of stories about its eponymous hero written over the course of centuries. Daniel 10 and 11 describe, as a prophesy and with almost all names removed, the political history of the Greek period of occupation of the Land of Israel, breaking off in the middle of the Hasmonean revolt, from which it is deduced that this is when this part of the book was written. But Ezekiel, writing centuries earlier, and a contemporary of the biblical Daniel (if he existed) makes reference twice to Daniel (or Dan'el: the word is written without the י) as a famously wise man, which I take as evidence for the Daniel stories starting in this own time.

Returning to the original point, the upshot is that the period between the close of the Bible and the Mishna is anything but devoid of Jewish literary representation. This confirms my suspicions, but I did have a few surprises in what I have learned from this little project, which can I suppose be summed up as surprise at how short the period between the close of the Bible and earliest of the works in the Dead Sea Scrolls actually was.

I had thought, a little while ago, that the chronology was: the history in Chronicles ends with the return of the Jews to the Land of Israel, and the last of the prophets wrote within a generation of this; then followed Ezra and Nehemiah, about sixty years after the return. Then I discovered that, though the history in Chronicles only goes up to the return (the end of the book quoting the opening of Ezra), the genealogy of the House of David is given for a further six generations, into the fourth century, so I thought the book must have been edited to add this after the rest of it was written.

But now I discover what's actually the case is that Malachi was writing a full century after the first return from the Babylonian exile; and Ezra and Nehemiah weren't written (according to Wikipedia and the Hertz Chumash—though I'd like to get another look at the Soncino Daniel-Ezra-Nehemiah, which gives different dates IIRC) until after the last generation mentioned in Chronicles (though the men themselves lived a little beforehand).

lethargic_man: (Default)
I thought it would be fun to take some timelapse photography of my cheeseplant as its latest leaf emerged from its bud and unrolled. Unfortunately, the results aren't as slick as I would have liked, due to (a) the fact the cheeseplant would get moved by my opening and shutting the curtains every day, and me then pulling the leaves up above the windowsill, (b) snapping photos once a day being an insufficiently high frame rate, and (c) the most dramatic changes happening when I could not take photos due to either being in Berlin, or it being Pesach; but you get the idea.

Hmm, there doesn't seem to be a way to upload videos to Dreamwidth. I've uploaded it to LiveJournal, but can't embed that here, so Dreamwidth readers are going to have to see it over on my LiveJournal blog.
lethargic_man: (reflect)
[livejournal.com profile] aviva_m and I visited a zoo recently. I was reticent to go; I'm not comfortable with the incarceration of animals in small spaces—indeed, since I discovered the idea of goldfish having a seven second memory is a myth, I'm not even comfortable seeing them in a tank, unless it's as large as a pond. Consequently, we went to the larger of Berlin's two zoos, the Tierpark.

This was the first time I've been to a full-blown zoo (beyond the likes of Pet's Corner in Jesmond Dene) since I went to Whipsnade at about sixteen, and I was rather trepidatious. Once we got there, [livejournal.com profile] aviva_m was entranced to see the bears' antics, and I was delighted to discover that next door to the elephant enclosure one could find both hyraxes and a manatee: the elephant's closest relatives.

But.

The enclosures, though larger than, say, the 1930s-era bear pit we previously saw in Berlin,* were all rather small compared to the amount of a room the animals would have in the wild. I was distressed to hear a tiger wailing a single plaintive note over and over again, and to see a dhole engaging in a clear example of stereotypy: the pacing or rocking back and forth that characterises animals kept in an environment which is too small and does not feature enough stimulation. It actually had quite a large enclosure, quite a few tens of metres on a side, and the other dholes were unaffected, but this one was running in a figure-of-eight shape ten metres in length over and over again, and had been doing so long enough to have worn a rut into the ground.

* Built because the bear is the city's emblem (due to a folk etymology deriving the first half of "Berlin" (pronounced in German like "bear-lean") from "Bӓr").

† Or humans: think of the children found in the orphanages in Romania when Ceaușescu was toppled.

I find myself wondering what justifies treating animals like that? Once upon a time zoos were the only way people could get to encounter exotic animals beyond mere pictures of them, but now there are amazing natural history programmes on TV, which will show you animals in their natural environment in a way you could never see in a zoo.

It's true that sometimes zoos are a necessity for protecting endangered animals threatened with extinction in the wild, but my experience in game reserves in South Africa showed me there is an alternative. Yes, it's more expensive to run a game reserve and shuttle people around in jeeps in the hope (not guaranteed) they'll see wild animals, but so? Do animals exist to be paraded before us at the cost of their mental health? Besides, sometimes large game reserves aren't necessary. The penguins I saw in South Africa stayed in their colony by their own choice. They could go out swimming and hunting in the sea as far as they liked, but they always came back to their nests.

Thoughts or reactions?

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Lethargic Man (anag.)

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